Wishing Well
by Starsky's Strut
Summary: Justice will be served. Story now complete.
1. Chapter 1

All usual disclaimers apply, I don't own the rights, I don't get money and this is for entertainment only. Please excuse any errors; they are entirely mine.

Ever hear a song and think it's about one thing, only to find that it's about something else entirely? This is story is the result of one of those songs.

**Wishing Well  
**By Starsky's Strut

It was the last time that slimy creep would ever try doing _that _to someone. The night-cloaked figure poked the prone body with an outstretched foot. The garbage was quite dead. Nobody would ever miss him. The figure inhaled deeply and allowed a grim smile to make a momentary appearance. The silencer was unscrewed from the gun barrel and put away. Things hadn't gone quite the way they were supposed to go, but then practice makes perfect. And there was plenty to practice to be had and plenty of garbage to practice on. The figure checked the area for witnesses before slipping quietly away through the darkened alleyways of Bay City's seamier side.

XXXX

_5 years later_

"Jury, have you reached your verdict?"

"Yes your honor, we have."

"What say you?"

"We, the jury, find the defendant, David Michael Starsky, guilty of all charges."

Starsky's head shot up at the verdict.

"Thank you jury. The sentencing phase will begin in two days. Mr. Starsky, before I dismiss the jury, do you have anything you wish to say in your defense?"

He tried to speak. Nothing came out. He tried again, still nothing; it was as if his mouth was stuffed with cotton and it was sucking every bit of moisture from it. The room began a slow spin; it was warm and getting warmer. The lights seemed to get brighter and brighter. This was a nightmare… it couldn't be happening. He shook his head in denial. It wasn't true. None of it was.

"Note that the defendant declines to speak."

The gavel fell with a heavy bang.

Starsky began to struggle.

"Order in the court! Bailiff, please remove the prisoner from the courtroom."

**TBC**

Sorry about the short chapter, if anyone is interested, I'll continue.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi ladies,

Thanks for all of the feedback. Here is the next installment, I figured I had better get it out pretty quick, or risk bodily harm. **_–G--_** I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

**Chapter 2 **

_Wednesday_

Captain Dobey stepped out of his office "They just found his car." At his announcement, all activity in the squad room stopped and all heads turned towards him.

Hutch whipped around on one heel to face his superior. "What? Where?"

"Bay City Technical College."

"Bay City Tech?" Hutch shook his head, "What the hell was it doing there?"

"Being sat on by about eight co-eds."

Hutch blinked several times before asking the obvious question, "Why were they sitting on it?"

Dobey gave a pained expression and pursed his lips before speaking, "They were cheerleaders having their yearbook photo taken. Their school colors are red and white." He gave a disgusted snort.

Hutch sat down hard, fortunately for him, there was a chair behind him. He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed convulsively "What about fingerprints?"

"Prints? There are hundreds of prints… thousands, all over the car. The guys in the lab are betting on how many _days_ it'll take to process the Torino. Then they have to fingerprint the students who admitted to touching the car and then-"

Hutch held up his hand "Stop. I get the picture… what about inside the car?"

"There hasn't been a complete check yet, but the preliminary one seems to indicate that the inside was wiped down, how thoroughly remains to be seen." Dobey help up his hand to forestall questions "They're going to go over the whole thing inch by inch.

"What does this mean? That a bunch of college kids stole his car? Did they have something to do with his disappearance?" The blond threaded a frustrated hand through his thin blond locks as he stood back up.

"Where're you going?"

"To talk to those kids, find out what happened." was Hutch's exasperated reply.

"No Hutch, I have several officers talking to those students already. I also talked to campus security and they told me that they had noticed the Torino sitting in the lot yesterday. But it could have been there as long three days. They thought it was a student's vehicle until they had noticed that it didn't have a campus lot sticker on it, so they ticketed it. It seems to be a common practice for students to leave their vehicles parked on the grounds, so they didn't' think too much about it." The captain shook his head.

"You're telling me that nobody took notice of _that_ car? I don't believe it!" He reached for his jacket. "I gotta go talk to them."

Dobey walked over to him and grabbed his elbow, "Hutch, you know that the Torino looks like some kid's street rod. It was an easy assumption for them to make. Nor is Bay City Tech campus security privy to a BCPD APB. They had no way of knowing we were looking for the car until we made that information public."

Hutch pulled his leather jacket on and straightened the collar as he listened to his captain.

Dobey put his hand on Hutch's shoulder. "Hutch… Ken… I know you're gonna ignore this, but why don't you go to conference room C and lay down on the couch for an hour or two? You've been at this for nearly three days now, non-stop. You're not going to be of any help to anyone if you don't take a break."

"How can I take a break when we don't know where Starsky is? Huh? Answer me that, Cap'n… He could be hurt…dying… and you want me to take a break? I'll take a break alright." he glared into the big man's eyes. _'Don't antagonize the people I need.' _Those were Starsky's words, in his quiet, calm voice whispering in the cranky blond's ear. Hutch dropped his chin to his chest. That was another bad day… a horrid twenty-four hour period that nearly culminated with his best friend's death by poison.

But what had happened to Starsky this time? There had been no ransom demand; no threats of retaliation had been made to either of them -lately. Starsky had simply vanished. The last anyone had seen of him was when he had dropped his stewardess girlfriend off at the airport Sunday afternoon. Hutch struggled to suppress a yawn.

Dobey studied him for a long moment, "Try to get some sleep son." He patted the lanky detective on the back as the exhausted man strode by him. "That's an order… Don't leave that room for at least one hour, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, sure." Hutch shuffled towards the conference room and he lay down on the beat up old couch and drew the worn blanket over himself, he draped an arm over his eyes and he attempted to quiet his mind enough to get some sleep. Dobey was right; he wouldn't be any good to Starsky or anyone else if he didn't get some rest.

But try as he might, Hutch could not get his brain to take a break, it was still working, rather like a gerbil on an exercise wheel. His thoughts ran down familiar paths; round and round, over and over. What had happened to Starsky? Where was he? Had he been kidnapped? Was he alive? Was he dead?

Hutch thought back to the last time he had seen Starsky. For as much as everyone accused them of being attached at the hip, they did have their own lives to lead and they could, and did function without constant contact. They had been accused of having a 'psychic connection,' well if that were true, he would know where to find his partner. Only he didn't know. He thought back to the last time he had seen Starsky.

_Last Saturday night_

The foursome had walked along the Pier 20 Boardwalk, where a mini fair was taking place. The pier was crowded with people, tables of wears and trinkets. The scents of different foods and desserts wafted through the early evening air. They stopped just outside the open tent of a fortuneteller. The sun-faded name over the aged cloth arch was 'Madam Ruby Tuesday', seer of seers for seekers of the Truth'.

"C'mon Hutch, it'll be fun." Starsky grinned over at his best friend. "You remember what fun, is right?" He waggled his eyebrows. The two ladies that accompanied them giggled at his eyebrow antics.

The tall blond rolled his eyes up and held that pose for a few seconds.

"Yeah Kenny-wenny, don't be such a stuffy shirt!" The strawberry blonde baby talked as she tugged playfully at the collar of Hutch's t-shirt. She slipped her arm through his and leaned into him. Her double D breasts molded themselves around his elbow and side, filling in around nearly every curve and –formally- open space between them.

Hutch looked over the top of her head and helplessly mouthed 'Kenny-wenny?' at his partner.

Starsky gave a small helpless 'what can ya do?' shrug before giving a Cheshire grin. He tightened his grip on his little redheaded armful. She smiled back at him.

The strawberry blonde giggled at Starsky's date, "So Wendy, I think it's just gonna be you and Wavy-Davy. Kenny-wenny's being a big ol'stick in the mud." Her lower lip stuck out in an impressive pout.

Hutch eyed Patty's lower lip speculatively.

Starsky's little redheaded armful gave a rather un-lady like snort, "Patty, you're drunk," Wendy hiccupped once and continued "but what the hell? C'mon 'Wavy-Davy' let's have our fortunes read."

"I don't need my fortune read to know what I'm gonna be doin' later tonight." Starsky wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the hair over her left ear and quietly whispered some suggestions into it.

Wendy leaned back in his arms and stared up at him for a long moment, her eyes round with shock. A smile bloomed slowly across her face. "Well, we could just skip the fortunes and head back to your place Wavy-Davy and see if you can live up to your boast."

"Ain't no boast. It's just the truth and nothin' but the whole truth." Starsky purred back at her, a wicked smile slunk across his lips.

"So help me God." Those words issued from inside the tent.

The foursome peered into the semi darkness of the tent. "Please, enter… don't be shy. I tell the truth, I do not lie."

"Cool!" Wendy cooed "C'mon, let's have our palms read."

Wendy pulled Starsky into the tent. The woman seated behind the small round cloth-covered table, motioned towards the two available folding chairs. "Please sit down." The woman wore colorful, billowy clothing, had the requisite scarf on her head, along with the assorted beads, bangles and large gold hoop earrings. She was a stereotype of every other fortuneteller they had ever seen, right down to the crystal ball in the middle of the table.

Wendy and Starsky sat.

Hutch leaned down and whispered into Starsky's ear "Remember madam Yram? Hmmm?"

Starsky gave his partner a pained look. "Yeah, all too well."

"Yram? She is a fake, a fraud." The fortuneteller waved a dismissing hand. "She isn't of the blood, she holds no skill, she doesn't tell the truth, but I will."

They gave the woman a worried look.

The woman laughed lightly "I'll knock off the corny rhyming, if you cross my palm with a little silver." She put her hand out, palm up.

Starsky patted his pockets, searching for change. He looked up at his partner. Hutch put his hands up, palms out and took a step backwards, saying without words 'don't look at me, this was your idea.'

"Or paper money, I'm not too picky." The fortuneteller supplied helpfully after watching the exchange.

XX

"That was incredible! Davy, how do you think she knew all that stuff about us, huh?" Wendy gushed to her date as they made their way out of the small cloth tent. Patty looked at him too.

"Yeah, like how did she know Kenny plays guitar?"

The curly haired detective smiled down at his date "Probably because of the calluses on his fingers. She simply picked up on a lot of what you said and used that to tell you what you wanted ta hear, that an' by readin' a little body language, and bang! You told her stuff that she had picked up on and in return, told back to you. See? It's ain't hard to be a fortuneteller."

"Body language?" Wendy looked confused for a second, "What do you mean by 'body language'?"

Starsky pulled her into his arms, pulled the thick fall of hair away from her ear and preceded to whisper into it. When he finished, Wendy grabbed his hand and began dragging him back to the Torino.

Starsky waved helplessly back at Hutch and Patty as he picked up his pace to keep up with his ardent date.

Hutch looked down at his own date and smiled – alone at last. He just hoped he had enough money for the cab fair home, either hers or his; it didn't really matter to him.

XXXX

That was the last he had seen of Starsky. They each had their own plans for Sunday and Hutch was to pick Starsky up for work on Monday afternoon, since they were scheduled to pull second shift duty this week.When he didn't come out of his apartment, Hutch went in to get him and that's when the search began.

Wendy was the last known person to see Starsky and he had dropped her off at the airport so she could catch her flight. Wendy didn't have anything to add since she had kissed him goodbye and walked off with a group of stewardess. It was very unlikely that Wendy had anything to do with Starsky's disappearance. Her alibi was airtight… she had been on duty hundreds of miles away from Bay City since Sunday.

So, the airport was the last place Starsky had been seen with his car. Hutch pulled his arm away from his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Now his Torino had been found at Bay City Tech… what, if anything, did that mean? Hutch wished that he did have a psychic connection with his best friend, that way he could track him down… a psychic, that's what he needed… Hutch shook his head, the one true psychic he knew, Joe Collandra, was dead. The poor guy had been shot to death in his restaurant for a lousy forty bucks in his till. It seems he had been unable to foresee his own demise.

Hutch rubbed at his tired, burning eyes and squinted at the wall clock. There was forty-five more minutes to go before his hour long, Dobey enforced break was over, somehow, it seemed like it had been so much longer then that already.

He gave a defeated sigh and watched as the minute hand ticked his remaining time away.

XXXX

"David Michael Starsky, your sentence is life imprisonment without chance of parole. May god have mercy on your soul."

The gavel fell.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

Hi All,

I am so sorry for the delay in this chapter, I beg your forgiveness. I had been hoping this story would just flow and I could produce a chapter a week. My muse had other ideas and bolted for parts unknown. I thank all of you who took the time to review and to nudge me to continue this story. This chapter has things getting more difficult for our heroes, _so if you are sensitive, please don't read this chapter. _

**Chapter 3**

The smell was the first thing he noticed as he slowly regained consciousness. It was a scent was both indescribable and unforgettable. It was a cloying, sickening scent. It was the smell of decay. Of death. The scent was old; whatever had died had done it sometime ago. Starsky's muddled mind slowly slogged its way to full consciousness. He let out a long groan of pain as he lifted his face away from the smell, rising up on his elbows to put some distance between his nose and the ground beneath him.

He held that position for several long seconds, unable to do anything more, he felt strangely lacking in energy. His mouth was incredibly dry and what little bit of moisture that was in there was almost a putty-like substance, sticky and thick. He made a face and worked his jaw in an attempt to produce a little spit. _God, I could use a drink of water right now_ he thought.

Starsky shook his head, attempting to clear the cobwebs; he only succeeded in making it ache and spin wildly. His stomach heaved and what little he had in his stomach emptied out onto the dirt floor, but it was little more then stringy spit and bile. His guts twisted and cramped for a while, as if refusing to believe that's all there was to heave out. After a bit, it slowly settled down.

Another wave of dizziness washed over him as the cramping faded and all he could do was ride it out. He dropped his head to his forearm and rested it there as he waited for his head to stop spinning. He detected no immediate danger, so he let himself drift with the dull throb of his pain. He could tell he had been drugged. That realization helped to snap him out of his haze. _What the hell happened to me?_

He slowly sat up and began to catalog his aches. His head, wrists, arms, legs hurt, but the worst of all was his thirst, followed closely by hunger. When had been the last time that he'd had any water or food? He leaned against something that was cool, dry and bumpy. He opened his eyes as wide as they would go, but saw nothing. That meant either he was blind, it was night or he was some place with no natural lighting. He sniffed the air, a faint fresh scent mingled with the damp, musty scent of old death and vomit.

Starsky made a sour face as he pulled some loose dirt over the small puddle of vomit before carefully climbing to his feet. He leaned against the wall as his head spun with the change in his position. The surface that he was resting his hands on seemed to be made ofstone. His legs started to quake with his efforts to remain standing. He turned around and braced his back against the wall, his legs continued to threaten to buckle, so he locked his knees.

Starsky struggled to recall the events that led him here. Memories, blurry and indistinct, flowed in a damaged-film reel fashion in his mind. The hurky-jerky images bounced like the holes along the edges of the film were missing the sprockets. He briefly wondered if it stopped, would the light of the projector burn through delicate film of his memories? He snorted weakly at the ridiculous notion.

His head continued to pound mercilessly, so he allowed himself to slip down the wall to the floor, where he rested. He put the palms of his hands to his eyeballs and pushed back, trying, without much success, to relieve the pounding ache residing there.

"How did I get here? Wherever here is…" Starsky wondered out loud. "I dropped Wendy off and stopped at a gas station for a fill up… drove away and…" He drew a blank and then tried to figure out the next memories he had. Lights… bright lights, so bright they burned into his retinas so he had to keep his eyes closed or risk blindness. Even through his closed lids, he could see the light, turned red by the skin of his eyelids. It felt like he had been there for hours with those lights blazing on him. Sweat, he remembered sweating under the hot, bright lights… and the drone of a voice.

He concentrated on that memory; he had to figure out what was happening and who was doing this to him. He remembered hearing a voice… a male voice speaking loudly, the words were somewhat garbled and strange almost disjointed… most likely due to the drugs he had been given… there was a trial going on… Starsky focused in on that memory… he had been accused of … of…what the hell had he been accused of?

Starsky's headache ratcheted up a notch as he struggled to recall the events. He had been asked to speak in his own defense, and had found himself unable to talk… the room was too hot, the lights too bright… what he was accused of wasn't true. None of it had made sense, at least not to him.

Starsky had tried repeatedly to speak and failing that, to stand, but had found he was tied to his chair. All he could manage was to shake his head in denial. He then had been roughly pulled from the room, still struggling to protest, to deny the bogus charges. The chair he was secured to was a sturdy wheeled office chair; he was unable to prevent himself from being removed from the courtroom.

Once he had been pulled from the room, his mouth and nose had been covered with a cloth. It must have had chloroform on it, for after a few breaths, he had felt the world spin and consciousness had once more fled. When next he awoke, he found he had been gagged and a thick hood had been placed over his head, its drawstring had been cinched snuggly around his neck, securing the hood in place. The hood reminded him of what condemned prisoners were forced to wear during their execution. He gave an involuntary shudder.

His heart pounded furiously in his chest as feelings of claustrophobia flooded him. The material in his mouth had expanded as it sucked the moisture from him. The snug drawstring began to pinch as his neck and throat muscles tensed. His lungs had heaved for air and he began to struggle reflexively to free himself. He was suffocating; he was going to die gasping for breath. And all the while, he could feel eyes upon him, watching him struggle.

That made him sick, but it also made him very, very angry. He was not gonna die like some bug under glass, being watched as he struggled and finally died. No. Absolutely not. Maybe he couldn't control what was happening to him, but he could control himself enough so he wouldn't die this way, slowly suffocating. He managed to calm down and started to regulate his breathing. He could almost feel the disappointment from his watchers. It was a small victory, but it was a victory. If he could have, he'd have smiled.

Starsky had to struggle to maintain his control over his panic. It was difficult not to recall the memories of his time with Simon's followers. _They_ hadn't gagged him. No, they had wanted to hear him beg, yell or scream, none of which he had done, much to their disappointment.

That was then, this was now. And now it seemed that his current captors didn't want him to be heard during his 'trial', as he had been still groggy from the drugs they had used on him. What ever he was on, had prevented him from making any kind of reasonable response. Starsky had sat, secured to that chair for a very long time. He hadn't been offered food or water the entire time between the mock trial and the sentencing.

Nor had he been allowed to relieve himself… humiliation coursed through him as his bladder had let go after a while. His captors did not seem to care about keeping him in any sort of minimal human comfort. It had been the same with Simon's followers. His skin crawled at that memory and a tide of anger rose sharply inside of him. How could anyone do this to another human being? Who hated him so much to go through all this trouble? He had no answers, only questions and no one to answer them, at least for now.

After a long period of time had passed, the brunet remembered something about the sentencing being in two days time… had it been that long? He couldn't be sure, since he had been forced to wear the gag and hood the entire time after his 'trial.' Confined in such a fashion, he had no way of knowing just how long it had been. Further more, he had been made to wear the hood and gag during the sentencing phase. He remembered being condemned to 'life imprisonment without chance for parole'. He knew he wasn't in prison, which was the one thing he was sure of.

It was cool in the place he was being held in. Starsky shivered a little. He was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. He felt around the floor but couldn't find any blanket or anything to wrap around himself to help keep warm. He hoped that there would be some water or food. But all he found was dirt. There was a dirt floor beneath him. Well, perhaps once it got light, he could see about maybe digging his way out of here.

He shivered a bit more, still feeling quite weak from the drugs he had been given and the lack of food and water. He licked his dry and cracked lips; some water would taste good right now. He pulled his knees up to his chest and pulled his t-shirt over them to help him retain some warmth. He pulled his arms inside the shirt, then rested his head on his knees and breathed into the neck of his shirt and down his chest for added warmth.

Now that his sentence had begun, perhaps his captors would start giving him food and water… Starsky held onto that thought as he nodded off into a fitful sleep.

XXXX

_Thursday morning _

Hutch nursed his King Kong-sized headache carefully; he didn't want to rouse it. The beast was sleeping, for now, but he could feel that it was on the verge, it could go to a deeper level of sleep or it could roar to life and make an already bad day worse.

He swirled his mug of coffee around and sipped the tepid brew. Motor oil wasn't as thick as this stuff. He made a bitter face as he sipped at it.

"How's the coffee?" Carl from the lab grinned as he watched the detective force himself to drink more of the coffee.

Hutch looked over the rim of his mug at the lab guy's grinning face and momentarily contemplated knocking the man down and forcing him to drink the foul stuff before replying sarcastically "Good, you should try some."

"Yuck, no way. Ya know, that's really Sid's science experiment, he's trying to see how thick coffee has to be in order to float a spoon."

Hutch rolled his eyes, "Don't you guys have anything better to do?"

"Those yahoos? No, they don't have anything better to do. You need to leave the real science to us ladies."

Hutch turned to look at the speaker, brightening as he recognized her, "Cheryl, good to see you back here. Are you working on this-" he stopped himself short of saying 'case'. This was so much more then a 'case', this was his partner, his missing partner.

Cheryl Jennings clasped his free hand in both of hers. "When I heard, I had to come back. I can take a vacation anytime." She gave the blond an encouraging smile. "You couldn't keep me away from here."

Hutch perked up a little, "You found something?"

She motioned to him to follow her.

"So, what've you got?" Hutch set the mug down onto the counter and trailed her to the Torino.

"Is this yours?" She lifted up a plastic evidence bag from off of the table next to the car. She handed it to the blond detective.

Hutch frowned and took the evidence bag from her, he looked at the object, turning it over a few times before handing it back to her, "No, it's not Starsky's either. Any prints on it?"

"Unfortunately, no… I wanted to rule you and David out before continuing with the analysis." Cheryl took the evidence bag and started out of the garage and towards the lab.

"Where did you find it?" he inquired as his tagged along beside her. This was their first clue since the Torino had been found.

"To be honest with you, I didn't find it, Carl did." She entered the lab where beakers, Bunsen burners and microscopes reigned.

"Okay, so where did Carl find it?" Hutch felt distinctly out of place in this room. His and Starsky's style of detecting was a far more direct and 'hands on' approach. He was keenly aware that many cases had been solved here. He welcomed any help, from any source, provided it led to the recovery of his best friend.

"In the Torino's trunk."

"So what can you tell about it, besides the fact that it's a part of a bike peddle" Hutch pointed at the bit of black rubber that Cheryl was carefully removing from the bag with a large pair of tweezers.

"Well, from this I should be able to find out what type of bike it came from. Hmmm, there seems to be some dirt and other debris in the tread, perhaps I can glean some information about where it was shortly before ending up in the trunk of the Torino."

"Like?" Hutch prodded after watching her becoming increasingly engrossed in her work, many of the lab techs were like that, and Cheryl was no different.

"Like the area this bike was through, there maybe a tiny piece of evidence on this that may help you find David." She said distractedly as she studied the part.

He knew she would contact him the minute she found anything. In the mean time, he needed to go to Bay City Technical College and see if there was a bicycle there that was missing a part of its peddle. If he found the bike's owner, he would be that much closer to finding Starsky. He broke into a trot as he headed down the hall to his car.

XXXX

Starsky blinked slowly. There was some light coming from overhead somewhere. He floated between sleeping and waking. It was rather blissful. Until he remembered that he was in some sort of trouble. He licked his lips, they were cracked and bleeding. His tongue was slightly swollen in his mouth. He forced his eyelids to open and looked around; the light was dim and coming from overhead. He tilted his head back to look at it.

Light.

There was light. It had been dark, and now there was light. He smiled faintly. He liked the light. Thoughts were difficult, thinking was hard. He licked his lips again. Water would be really nice right now. His stomach gave a weak rumble. Food would be good too, not as good as water though.

Starsky was roused as the hunger and thirst pangs increased. The drifting feeling slowly receded, allowing him more clarity. How long had it been since he had had something to eat or drink? He pondered the question for a while as he looked for something to write on or with, to help him remember. _This is just like in one of those prison movies_, he smiled at the notion. He continued searching until he found a small rock, then slowly moved to the wall and scratched at it. It took a few tries, but he was able to make a mark on the stone wall.

He had likely had been kidnapped on Sunday, sometime after dropping Wendy off. There was the trial, he made one mark for that day, though he really wasn't sure when the trial had happened… had it been the same day he had been grabbed? Starsky shrugged fatalistically, until he remembered or someone told him, he'd just have to use his best guess. The judge had said that sentencing would be 'in two days', so he scratched two more parallel lines into the surface, though again he wasn't sure of how long he had been hooded, gagged and left to sit in his own stink. Starsky grimaced and forced his mind to concentrate on this task instead of his humiliation.

So today was number four… he made another mark before dropping the rock to the floor next to the wall. With little else to do and feeling quite fatigued by his efforts, Starsky looked up at the single source of light. The light was natural and far above him. It would never reach all the way down to him. Dread dug its claws deeply into him as he realized where he was being held.

He was at the bottom of a dry well.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

Hi all,

Thanks for all of the encouragement to continue with this story.I hope you continue to enjoy it.

Special thanks to:  
Pony – Peddle, pedal, petal. _(VBG)_ I knew one of 'em had to be right.  
Kreek and Eli – For looking things over and your insightful, helpful input!

– Warning! Things are getting grimmer. If you are sensitive, please don't read this.

**Chapter 4 **

Hutch opened the door to the LTD and it gave out a loud, painful rusty squeal. He slowly slid in and sat down. He missed having the horn go off whenever he opened the door. He sat there for a long moment as he remembered that Starsky had fixed the horn so it wouldn't blare when the driver's side door was opened. He said it was because it was tough to be on a stakeout with the damn thing blaring at inopportune times.

That had led them into having an argument over the LTD's blaring horn versus the flashy Torino and which was the best vehicle to have during a stakeout. Hutch and the LTD had won. The Torino wasn't practical and didn't blend in anywhere. The day after that argument, Hutch found that the horn had been fixed - thanks to sore loser Starsky. Hutch rather missed the annoying blare and how irritated his partner became every time the blond opened his door. It was if some of the LTD's personality had been taken away.

The tall detective slowly shook his head; he needed to concentrate on the task at hand and not think about some stupid argument. He wiped a hand down his face, stifling a yawn as he did so. Four days. It had been four days and four nights since anyone had seen Starsky. As a police officer, Hutch was painfully aware that the longer his friend was missing, the more likely it was that he was dead. They had beaten long odds before, but how long could their luck hold out? How long before fate caught up with them and one of them paid the ultimate price?

Not that he or anyone else was giving up, but those were the cold facts. For the blond, there would be no giving up. Never. At least not until his partner was found again and that wasn't going to happen unless he got his butt going and located the bike that was missing part of its pedal. He put the car in gear and drove to the Tech school campus.

XXXX

Hutch put the mic back in its cradle on the front of his police radio. Cheryl had just given him the brand of the bicycle the pedal was from; it was a Schwinn, one of the most popular brands of bicycle in the US. Why couldn't it have been an uncommon brand, which would have been far easier to track down?

He watched the students coming and going to and from the school. Questions paraded through his mind as he watched them go about their day. Was one or more of them responsible for Starsky's disappearance? If so, why? For that matter, how did they get to him? He watched as a handful of pretty coeds swished by the LTD. Perhaps he could guess the answer to that after all. A pretty girl with bicycle trouble… a distractingly short skirt, a smile, and even the best cop might not see the attack coming… but why Starsky?

Hutch shook his head to clear those thoughts; he needed to keep an open mind about this. If he locked into one scenario, he could easily miss vital clues. He couldn't afford to get tunnel vision; Starsky's life depended on it.. if he was still alive that is. For the longer he was missing, the more likely his friend was dead. Most kidnap victims were killed in the first three hours after being kidnapped. The blond swallowed hard and prayed that Starsky was in the small percentile that was after the three hours window. But this line of thought wasn't going to help his partner at all.

He caught a glance of himself in the rearview mirror, he looked terrible, he ran a hand through his fine locks to smooth them before heading over to the bike racks and began to search. It was clever of whoever had kidnapped Starsky to leave his car here, hidden in plain sight, surrounded by dozens of other cars. It was the same problem with the bicycle; it was also unlikely that anybody would take notice of a person riding away on a bicycle at a campus.

The blond looked at the sea of bicycles. Cheryl had narrowed the field a bit, but most bikes weren't registered and not all students and their bikes came from the Bay City area. Dobey had two other detectives making some calls to any place in town that sold or repaired Schwinn bikes. Hutch knew that it was a daunting task, since the missing pedal part could be from either a boys' or a girls' bike_, and_ the part hadn't changed much in thee last ten years. There were literally thousands of such bicycles in Bay City alone… talk about a needle in a haystack.

Hutch's lips thinned as he pressed them together into a grim line. It didn't matter if he had to look at every single bicycle in Bay City, for until there was another lead or a break in the case, he would keep looking. Then again, the pedal part might just be a red herring, planted to send them off in the wrong direction. '_One lead at a time Hutchinson, one lead at a time'_ he coached himself, he'd stay on this line of investigation until it paid off or played out. He would do whatever it took to find his friend and being out here searching, sure as hell beat sitting at his desk and waiting. At least out here, he felt like he was doing something.

XXXX

_Late Thursday afternoon_

Three beeps issued from the open window of the LTD, interrupting Hutch's thoughts as he continued to look for the Schwinn with the missing part. He was finding that it was fairly common to have some of the black rubber tread missing. This was going to exponentially increase the difficulty in finding the correct bicycle and the owner. But he wasn't willing to give up on his only lead just yet. Huggy had yet to get back to him about what the word on the street was.

The radio squawked "Zebra 3, Zebra 3,"

Hutch leaned through the window of his car to get the mic, "Zebra 3, go ahead."

"Captain Dobey wants you to return to Metro now."

"I'm kinda busy here Mildred, can it wait?" the blond tiredly asked.

Dobey's gruff voice broke in "Hutch, get back here pronto, we have a suspect in custody."

Exhaustion fled the weary detective's body "On my way Cap!" he tossed the mic into the car, unmindful of where it landed and piled in. With engine reving, siren wailing, tires squealingand rubber burning,the blond made tracks back to headquarters.

XXXX

Starsky was awakened by the sensation of something running across his chest. Groggily, he brushed at the annoying thing and felt a sharp bite on the palm of his hand; he shook it to dislodge the thing. The furry thing flew across the width of the well shaft and landed with a soft thump. The brunet slowly blinked at it until his eyes finally focused. It was a rat.

He sat up rapidly, blinking at the rodent invader. His head swam and his stone surroundings spun madly around him as vertigo assailed him. His stomach gave a mighty heave. Nothing came out, but his stomach acid burned hot in the back of his throat. Starsky could feel his face pinch as the sour acid taste filled his dry, parched mouth. He tried to spit the foul taste out, but he didn't have any spit left.

Soft pitter-patter drew his attention back towards the rat. It was clawing at the wall, trying to climb up. It would only get so far up, and then it would slip back down. Each attempt the rat made –and failed- only made it more frantic.

"I tried that already Mickey, panicking doesn't help." Starsky leaned miserably against the stone surface behind him and listlessly stared up at circle of light far above him as he remembered his frenzied, panic induced efforts to climb out and escape.

His first attempts to climb had started out calmly enough. He had remembered a couple of climbing techniques that Hutch had shown him while they were on one of their annual camping trips. One called for putting ones back against the wall and feet against the opposite wall and 'walking' up. The other was for wider gaps, which called for placing hands on one side and feet on the other, and 'walking' up that way.

But even stretching his body to its maximum length, with arms fully extended and with fingers reaching towards one side, his feet to the other, he couldn't touch the opposite wall. The well narrowed as it went up, but the narrower part of the well was at least 20 feet above his head.

Undaunted –at first- Starsky had taken off his shoes and socks off so he could dig his toes into any available nooks, crannies, cracks or any small smooth protuberances in the stone lining in the walls of the well. '_Twenty feet isn't that far up,'_ he told himself as he dug his fingers and toes digging into the smooth surface. He had managed to get two, maybe three feet off the dirt floor before losing his purchase and falling back down.

With each failed attempt, his desperation had increased, logic fled as he fell victim to panic, scrambling and clawing at the sides of the well, unmindful of pain, unmindful of the energy he was burning in useless attempts to climb out. He had become rather like a drowning man, scrambling and clawing at the wall until he was too exhausted to make another effort.

Panting, he had sat down hard and at some point, sleep had snuck up on him. And now he didn't know how long he had sleeping until the rat woke him up. Starsky looked up at the exit high above him and wished he were like Spiderman, with sticky hands and feet to climb with. But he wasn't Spiderman and wishing wouldn't change that fact.

Still, he knew he would have to try again to get out. Somehow.

With little energy to do anything else just now, he stared at the rat. It stared back at him with beady little black eyes, round, wide and unblinking. It looked terrified. The poor thing was trapped like a rat, just like him. He snickered at his little joke and his belly gave a weak rumble as he looked at the rat, Starsky quickly looked away. He wasn't that hungry. Yet.

An involuntary shiver worked its way up his body as he remembered having been hungry enough to eat a rat in Vietnam. That rodent had been cooked. Lt. Thayer had skinned, gutted and skewered a half dozen of the critters after they had been cut off from the rest of the platoon; their meager c-rations had been consumed days earlier. Thayer had forced each one of the men to eat a least one rat to help keep their strength up. _"Eat it, it tastes just like chicken."_ Lt. Thayer claimed. Lt. Thayer had lied.

Starsky shook his head at the memory. Roasted rat didn't taste like any chicken he'd ever eaten before or since. He curled a lip at his furry companion, raw rat would likely taste even worse than roasted rat. "Don't worry Mickey; I not planning on making Minnie a widow anytime soon… not if I can help it." His voice was raspy, like dried fall leaves in the wind. Something wet to drink was far more appealing than food was, especially raw rat… ugh! Definitely not on the menu.

He was on day five of being in the well… or was it still day four? He consulted his scratches on the wall… four marks, but what if he had missed a day because he had slept through it? He dug his fingers in the dirt in frustration. That only served to remind him that they hurt. He lifted his hands and peered at the digits. They were filthy, dirt, sweat and blood encrusted them. They showed signs of the abuse he had put them through in his efforts to escape the dry well. A couple of the fingernails were swinging loose, being held in place by small bits of bloody, shredded skin.

Starsky tilted his head back and looked up, wondering if it would be worth trying to call for help again. He knew that he would die of thirst long before he died of starvation. He was aware that people could live without eating for a month or so. But without water, he had nine to twelve days and that was only valid if conditions were just right and nothing else came into play... such as hypothermia.

It was summer, but he was a good fifty feet down inside this well. It was cool down here; he was wearing only a t-shirt, jeans, socks and shoes. Even keeping warm in the daytime was difficult, and it was worse at night. But if he moved around too much in his efforts to warm up, it exacerbated his thirst and reduced the time he could survive without water.

He had hollered himself hoarse already, but to be fair, he didn't have the saliva, or the energy to keep it up for very long… but if he didn't try, and someone who could help him was near… he might never be found. It was a double-edged sword. The more energy he used, in yelling, trying to climb out and attempting to stay warm, the weaker and more dehydrated he became.

He could save his energy and perhaps survive longer, but it was very possible that no one would find him because he _didn't_ try. He could just read his epitaph now _'Here lies David Michael Starsky; he died, ironically enough, because he actually kept his mouth shut for once.'_ Oh yeah… Hutch would have a field day with that one. Starsky rolled his eyes.

He felt a slight cramp deep in his bowels. Terrific. If he didn't want to foul his living space –more than it already was- he figured he best get to digging a little latrine. Starsky moved around, trying to figure out where to start digging.

The rat scurried away from him and around the wall before stopping, quivering with fear and uncertainty as it found itself heading back towards the human.

"Relax Mickey; I'm not digging your grave." Starsky snorted at the rodent, _'I can't believe I'm wasting my breath talking to a rat… then again, at least I'm not all alone down here.'_ He began to dig along the wall, not that there were a lot of choices, but he did want it as far from his 'bed' as possible. He used his little shard of rock that he scratched off the days with, that is until he found a slightly larger, flat rock, which was a little easier to dig with. He worked slowly and methodically, he couldn't afford to sweat and dehydrate even more quickly.

The scent of old death thickened as he dug deeper and his little pit was nearly complete when a hank of hair came up with his next stroke. Starsky stopped and peered into the hole. Small clods of dirt rolled back into the hole and he cleared it out with his hand. At the bottom he saw a bit of tan, much lighter then the surrounding dirt. A cold finger of dread trailed up his spine. He knew what it was. It was a bone. Something was buried in the bottom of the well.

He pulled back, setting his hands on his knees as he stared at the bone for several long moments. He contemplated covering the bone back up and starting another hole, but the practical part of him thought that there might be a few uses for a bone or two. He might be able to fashion something useful out of it. He might be able to use it to wedge into the wall to assist him in climbing. Or maybe he could dig out a few stones on the wall to make handholds for himself. He smiled as those thoughts entered his mind. He wasn't giving up, with hope renewed; he went back to digging the bone out.

The brunet kept up his efforts, keeping to a slow and steady pace as he burrowed further into the dirt. He wanted to speed up, but knew that he would burn too much energy doing that; he would need every bit of what he had to escape. And he would escape. He would not permit himself to even think of the alternative. He had momentarily given in to unproductive panic earlier; he would not do that again.

He scratched at the bottom of his hole and more hair came up. '_Perhaps it's a dog buried down here'_ he thought as he continued excavating. At least now he felt like he was doing _something_. Just sitting here and waiting for them to give him food and water didn't sit with him. His captors _might_ start feeding him, but they hadn't yet. They _might_ give him water, but they hadn't yet. If he waited too long to try to escape, he would become too weak to try… he didn't want to think of what would happen to him after that.

The curly haired detective leaned forward and down to dig deeper, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. The blood rushed to his head and spots filled his vision. He stopped digging for several moments until the spots left his field of vision. He looked back down at the hole. And he promptly shoved himself backwards as two large round dirt filled eye sockets stared blankly back at him. His throat convulsed madly as his heart made a bid for freedom. The large sockets and grinning, gaping jaw could only come from one creature… a human.

Starsky closed his eyes and leaned against the opposite wall as he struggled to slow his rapid heartbeat. He had seen dead people before, but it still bothered him to look at them. Long ago, he had silently vowed that he would never allow himself to get so used to death as to become unmoved by the sight of it.

He re-opened his eyes and looked at the skull; the jaw of the corpse gaped wide open as if locked forever in a silent scream of denial of its fate. The brunet had the morbid feeling that he was peering into his near future. Was to be his fate? To die… be dead, buried and forgotten in the bottom of a dry well?

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Hi all,

So sorry for the long wait… I need to have a sign made for me that says **'Caution – Slow muse at work'** _(G)_

Special thanks to Kreek, Eli, Pony and Shawne… Thank you so much for your support, because sometimes RL sucks through a very thin straw.

**Chapter 5**

Hutch trotted through the halls of Metro to get to the interrogation room where the suspect was being held. He had left the LTD double parked in front of the building and threw his keys to the first uniformed officer he had seen. The guy could either park the car properly, or ticket him, or have the LTD towed. At this moment, he didn't give a damn what happened to it.

Dobey was waiting outside of interrogation room number three and he grabbed Hutch's arm by the elbow and gently swung him around before the blond could enter the room.

Hutch stared longingly back at the door as Dobey led him to the adjoining room. "Come with me first." They entered the viewing room. Through the one-way glass, the suspect could be seen, sitting at the table, sipping from a foam cup. He set it down and then started rocking back and forth, his lips were moving. Aside from the creaking of the chair as the man rocked, the microphone in the room didn't pick up any thing the man might be saying.

Dobey simply stared through the glass at the cult member for a long minute before speaking, "He came to Metro and said he wanted to talk to you Hutch, says he's knows where Starsky is. He asked for a glass of water and has refused to say anything else."

The blond peered through the glass and studied the young man's face for a few minutes, taking in the follower's features; the straight, greasy dark brown hair, the hawk nose, the dark, unfocused eyes. The line between the detective's brows furrowed deeply as he spoke, "He looks familiar."

Dobey placed a hand on the frame of the one-way glass and leaned forward as he looked at the unknowing suspect, then shifting his dark eyes to his detective, "He should. He's one of Simon Markus's followers."

"WHAT!" Hutch stared for a spilt second, dumbstruck at his captain's words. He then whirled on his heel and made for the integration room door.

Dobey quickly reached out and grabbed Hutch's elbow, spinning him around to face him, "His name is Dick Clemens. He's probably our only lead to Starsky." The big man locked eyes with his detective. "Be careful."

"Be careful?" Propane blue eyes flashed hotly at his superior, "I won't hurt him. Much." The lanky detective yanked the door open and stalked out of the viewing room to the interrogation room; he grabbed the knob and gave it a twist. He stopped himself short and took in a fortifying breath. Dobey was right. He needed his wits about him before he went in all half-cocked, possibly screwing up any chance of getting pertinent information from Simon's follower.

He inhaled again, slowly letting the air fill his lungs, then exhaling just as slowly. He then entered the room, stopping just inside to door to look at the young man. Hutch remembered this kid was the one he had grabbed and yanked to his feet in the back of that dingy, deserted shop in the frantic hours shortly after Starsky had been kidnapped. The place where Simon had told him to 'start at where it stopped.'

The kid still had the same glazed, over eyes, bad body odor and greasy hair. The only difference was he wasn't wearing his black robe this time. But a grubby 'Kiss' t-shirt –that had once black, but now gray and worn and dirty old blue jeans, with holes worn through both knees. He feet were dirty and bare.

The cult follower stopped his rocking at the detective's entrance into the room. A serene smile appeared as the young man recognized him, "I knew you'd come. You thought you could change things, prevent what Si-mon dreamed. You can't do that. What Si-mon dreams comes true, always true… He dreamed a wonderful dream for your partner. You thought you had kept it from coming true, but all you did was delay the inevitable."

The young man nodded blissfully. "Simon may be in prison, but yet he is free! His reach is far, far beyond such mortal things as mere concrete walls and bars." He closed his eyes and went back to rocking in the chair, fingers templed, and lips moving, silently repeating something over and over.

Hutch reined in his temper and dragged a chair from around the side of the table, bringing it close to the kid, deliberately moving into his personal space, crowding the young cult follower. He simply stared at the cultist, keeping his breathing regular and slow. He now understood that the kid was mouthing the word 'Simon, Simon'. He gave an involuntary shudder, dear God; Starsky was in the hands of those madmen – again. He could taste the vomit gathering in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard to rid himself of the sour tang.

The kid's eyes opened and slid to the clock on the wall.

"Worried about something?" The blond spoke quietly, using his voice in soft, soothing manner… when what he really wanted to do was to slam him against the wall and shake the kid until the answers fell out.

"It's nearly time." The kid's eyes darted from the clock, to the detective and back again. He swayed a unsteadily as he sat in the chair; his eyes looked a little more glassy, his face still had the blissful, yet creepy expression that many cult followers had.

"Time for what?" A shiver started at the base of the detective's spine and began crawling slowly upwards, knotting his stomach on its way up. The sour taste was back, but at double the strength.

"I must wait for the right time to tell you." The young follower's slightly unfocused eyes darted nervously to the clock, to the detective and back again.

"And when is that?"

"It's nearly time now." A brief look of pain crossed the young man's face; he crossed his arms over his belly, hugging it. "Oh… Si-mon…" it was said reverently, then after a visible twinge of pain said, "I think it's time n-now."

"Time for what?" Hutch leaned in closer to the young man.

"Time to tell you… You'll never find Detective Starsky. He is lost to you, now and forever. I'm the only one who knows where he is. Si-mon's dream will finally come true. Si-mon's will -will be done!" The kid's eyes rolled back into his head and a shudder racked his entire body as he fought to continue to speak; "You'll never find… him…" the young man flopped off the chair and began convulsing on the floor. A wad of foam boiled out of his mouth as if he had just washed it out with cup full of hydrogen peroxide.

Shocked by the abruptness of the fit, Hutch stood up and stared down at the young man in amazement. He then jerked his eyes to the one-way glass, not to look at himself in the mirrored side, but looking beyond the reflective surface, knowing Dobey was on the other side watching and listening. "Get an ambulance!" He shouted as he kneeled beside the fallen cultist, thinking at the cultist was either pretending or having an epileptic fit.

The young man stopped moving and lay still, his arms and legs went ridged, locked into painful-looking positions.

Hutch placed his fingers to the carotid artery on the cultist's neck and felt a fading pulse. As he held them there, he could feel the beat falter beneath his fingertips and finally stop. The limbs of the young man were slowly released from their awkward ridged posture. Urine slowly soaked the young man's blue jeans as death released his control on his bladder. Hutch knew the young man was clinically dead. He knew that there still might be a way to save the kid, the blond needed answers and did what he had to do.

The blond quickly repositioned the young man on his back and he leaned down to begin CPR. But he stopped when he picked up a faint burnt almond scent issuing from the young man's mouth. The smell was likely from cyanide, Hutch sat up straight, aware he could be poisoned too if he were to put his lips on the victim's to do rescue breathing.

Dobey burst through the door and rushed to stand over the prone body. "What the hell happened?"

"He's dead Cap'n." the lanky detective slowly rose to his feet and looked at the cup on the table. "He must have swallowed a poison pill or something… that's probably why he wanted the water… how long ago did he ask for it?"

"The water? Twenty minutes or so," The big man grunted "Why?"

"I think he may have poisoned himself. It can take that long for most poisons to kick in, when taken orally. He stalled just long enough for me to get here… he kept looking at the clock, so he must've had some idea how long he had left to give me his message about Starsky before he died..." Hutch slowly shook his head, "It's crazy… it's just crazy."

Dobey grunted in response "And you were expecting something sane to come from one of Markus's followers?"

Long fingers furrowed through fine blond locks, leaving a visible path in their wake. "Guess that leave's me with one alternative."

"What's that?"

"I need to go speak to Simon Markus," a harsh breath hissed from between clenched teeth. Hutch tilted his head back and then rolled his head is a slow circle, stretching out his neck muscles in an attempt to ease the knot of pain located between his shoulder blades. He rubbed his neck. "Got any aspirin?"

"My office, top right drawer of my desk."

"Thanks… you want anything?"

The big man bobbed his head twice, "Answers, but we're not gonna get any out of him." He jerked his chin in the dead cultist's direction.

Brown eyes met light blue; both knowing things were not going in their favor. Time was a commodity they didn't have much of and it was slipping ever more quickly through their collective fingers. Hutch nodded, then exited the room to get some aspirin, suspecting he was going to have to buy himself a whole new bottle both for him and for Dobey, at the rate he was swallowing them.

He was nearly to his captain's office when someone tugged at his sleeve. He stopped and a woman threw herself into his arm and clung to him. He blinked rapidly at her, trying to figure out who she was. It dawned on him who she was just before the she spoke.

"Oh Kenny-wenny! I've been trying to reach you for days…" The strawberry blonde tightened her grip around his waist and snuggled as close as she could, then she hooked a long leg around one of his. Holding him in place.

Hutch returned the hug and then attempted to step back a step, the abrupt change in emotional gears blindsided him, it threw him for a second and he struggled to remember her name, "Hello… ummm… Carly."

"Patty," she corrected "You poor thing! What you must be going through hell right now… I can't imagine… you poor, poor dear" the woman clung tighter even and began to rub up and down a little with her whole body.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work right now?" He was still a little confused by her presence.

"It's after six, silly… I got off of work over an hour ago." She rubbed his back with both hands, making slow circles along his spine.

Hutch tightened his embrace for a second, needing the comforting contact, then he moved to step back slightly, but she leaned forwards and rubbed against him once more. Some how her tube top stayed in position over her large breasts, but not before exposing a generous portion of her breasts. For just a second, Hutch's eyes fell into the crevasse created between her size double D bosoms. He quickly yanked himself back out just as quickly, this was defiantly not the time for that. "Look Gwen…" He gently began to untangle himself from her arms.

"Patty… aw Kenny-wenny, you poor man…" she pouted her lips and ran a hand through his hair, "At first I was all mad that you didn't call me after the fun time we had last Saturday night, but now I understand why you haven't." She twined herself back around him like a pea vine, tucking her head under his chin. "Poor wavey-Davey… it's all over the news about him going missing."

"Sally look, I gotta get back to work now, okay? I really appreciate that you understand about my not calling you." He kissed her on the forehead as he worked at loosening her hold around his waist. "I'm working on a new lead right now." He tugged her arms away from his sides. He finally managed to free himself.

"Patty… that's why I'm here. I know how you can find Davey."

The got Hutch's full and undivided attention, "WHAT? How?" he grabbed her upper arms and unconsciously squeezed them.

"Ouch Kenny, that's quite a grip you got there." The strawberry blonde whimpered.

"Sorry," he moved his hands to her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes and all but begged, "Please tell me Patty." He held his breath, awaiting her answer.

"Patty…" she automatically corrected, then looked confused for a moment as she realized what she had done.

He caressed her bare shoulders to return her wondering attention to her information on how to find his partner, "Patty… how can I find Starsky?"

Earnest green eyes met his, "How what? Oh right… how to find Davey. You remember that fortuneteller from Saturday night? You can ask her, she was right about me getting my new job and-"

Hutch gaped at her for a second in incredulous disbelief at her words before groaning and rolling his eyes. He rudely interrupted her, "Oh for Christ's sake Patty, I know you're trying to help, but that's the dumbest damn thing I've ever heard. Look, I've got a lead to follow. I'll call you sometime, okay?" They both knew he was lying. So he dropped his hands from her now slumping shoulders, turned on his heel and entered Dobey's office, slamming the door behind him as he went.

After washing down about six aspirin, he sat in his captain's chair. He leaned back as far as the chair would go and stared up at the ceiling tiles. He made a mental note to send Patty some flowers as an apology for his rudeness. She had only been trying to help; he couldn't hold that against her.

Hutch then turned his thoughts on what he would say to Simon Markus when he got to Bay City Maximum security prison. Markus was a cunning man who got his kicks from manipulating people. The blond got up and looked for a tape recorder to take with him, fearing he was going to need it to figure out the jumbled crap that mad man spewed. He was heading out the door when something occurred to him. He snapped his fingers and went back to Dobey's desk and grabbed the bottle of aspirin, he shoved it into his pocket, knowing that he would likely need every single pill in there to get through that interrogation.

XXXX

A distant whinny buzz woke Starsky from his slumber. There wasn't much to do at the bottom of a well. Sleep was an escape and a way to conserve energy He blinked stupidly for a long moment before remembering where he was. He slowly sat up and the well wall swirled erratically before his eyes before slowly coming into focus. A pair of beady black eyes stared back at him. He startled for a second before remembering "Hi Mickey, ya scared me for a second there." He was amazed to find that he could still get his tongue off the roof of his mouth to talk, it was that dry.

At the sound of the raspy voice, the rat huddled against the wall, to panicked to move. And staring, ever staring at the human.

"Guess you're more scared of me then I am of you. Don't worry… I'm a lot more thirsty than hungry right now. I don't think I'd get a lot of juice out of you if I squeezed you." His parched tongue peeked out and touched his cracked and bleeding lips at the thought of anything liquid right now. Starsky shook his head at the ridiculous notion.

But then again, maybe rat juice tasted good and if it did, perhaps he could sell it. He gave a dry chuckle as he imagined himself hawking the stuff on some street corner _"Rat juice… get your fresh squeezed rat juice here! Starsky's own recipe…just step right up and have a cup!"_

His chuckles turned to parched wheezes as the rat scrambled up the wall at the sound. It fell with a soft thump. It tried again and again. Finally stopping and turning its little head to the wall as if not wanting to see the attack it feared coming. It sat there, quivering. Waiting.

Starsky felt a small lump rise in his throat. "I'm sorry Mickey… I won't turn you into rat juice, okay? I promise."

The rat peeked back at him and shivered.

"Stop worrying, okay? I don't eat things with names… you're name is Mickey, so you're safe with me." He then crossed his heart. "Is it a deal?" He stuck out his hand in the rat's direction.

Mickey turned his face back to the wall and started to dig.

"Just give it some thought, okay? I'm not such a bad guy, you'll see. You just gotta...  
get…used… to" the buzzing noise grew louder "…me."

He looked up and cocked his head to the side trying to catch the sound a little better. He knew that sound. He held his breath, listening intently to the sound. A sound that at any other time would have been annoying… but now it was as beautiful to him as any aria he had ever heard. It was the sweet sound of a lawnmower.

He got to his feet. The sound drew ever nearer. He looked at the rat, which had stopped digging at his sudden move, "Mickey! We're saved! Hey! Helloooo up there!" He listened, the mower got closer.

"HELP! DOWN HERE! WE'RE DOWN HERE! HEEELLLLP!" He forced himself to yell as loud as he could. He was so thirsty it was difficult to do, but he kept it up as the sound drew closer. "HEY! HEEELLP! Help us! Please!" The sound of the mower abruptly cut out, heartened Starsky yelled as loud as he could, "HELP! WE'RE DOWN HERE! IN THE WELL! HELP!"

Some loose dirt sprinkled down on him from above, further encouraged by this, Starsky renewed he cries for help. "HELP! DOWN HERE! HEEELLP!"

A backlit head appeared in the circle of light above him, the brunet couldn't make out the person's face, but it didn't matter one single bit what the guy looked like... All that mattered was that he had been found, relief flooded Starsky, "Oh thank GOD! Please get us out of here! I was beginning to think no one was ever gonna find me… " The head disappeared from the circle high above him. "HEY! Wait! Come back!"

Puzzled, Starsky waited a few seconds to see if the guy came back. His mind raced over where the person could have gone off to. '_He had to have heard my yells…he's probably making the call right now. I wonder if I could get him to throw a bottle of water down while we're waiting for the fire department? Where is he? He heard me, right? I mean, why else would he shut off his mower and look down here' _

Another thought occurred to him. '_Then again, it had to be pretty startling to hear someone shouting for help at the bottom of a well. If that was a kid, well, he might run home and tell someone, too startled or too afraid to respond to a scary voice from a well… the once he gets into the house… there has to be a house nearby, why else would he be mowing? He'll be back.' _

So Starsky waited, it was all he could do. "He'll be back." He was confident.

And waited. "He'll be back."

The lawnmower started up.

As the sound of the mower began a repeating cycle of drawing near and then far…near then far…. Starsky continued to stare up at the circle of light, so high above him and the truth slowly sunk in deeper into his brain with each repeating cycle. Tears stung the backs of his eyes… but they were too dry to fall.

Help wasn't coming.

**TBC**

**Notes: **Cyanide does smell like burned almonds – but only a very few people can detect it. The stuff about the foam coming out of the cult follower, is simply a dramatic touch on my part.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi All,

Here is another installment, hope you continue to enjoy.

**WARNING!** Things get rather grim in this chapter. If that sort of stuff bothers you, please read no further and there is a mild language warning in this chapter as well.

Thanks as always to the Usual Suspects, you all keep me on the right track.

Special thanks to Kreek- (Who along with several Torinos, just won a second place award for Smarm story in SG1 Fanfic!) Congrants my friend! And I couldn't have finished this chapter without your help, pally, Thanks!

**Chapter 6**

_Bay City Maximum Security Prison_

"When did this happen?" Hutch asked, exasperated and disbelieving at this turn of bad news.

"Yesterday," The warden looked away for a moment before continuing, "Look Detective Hutchinson, I understand you're upset. I realize that you need answers from Marcus, but unfortunately, it doesn't seem very likely that he'll be able to answer them anytime soon. The inmate responsible did a real number on him." The aging, pudgy man shook his head as he turned away and moved to look his barred window to the exercise yard below.

Hutch joined him and peered through the bars, he was simmering with pent up frustration. He had to work hard to think cognitively. The yard area was lit up to near daytime brilliance by several huge lamps; there wasn't a shadowy spot to be found. No one was in the yard; all were locked in their cells for the night. "How did it happen?" He asked in a conversational tone as he studied the warden's posture and facial reactions. Something wasn't right here.

The warden gave a long sigh; "He was on cleaning detail with one other guy. Marcus is a lazy one, wasn't pulling his share, finally the other inmate had enough-"

"Let's not kid each other warden. You're just tryin' to blow smoke up my ass." Hutch interjected, exasperated, "I don't need to be a detective to tell when someone was trying to snow me. And that's exactly what you're trying to do here, isn't it?"

"What ever are you implying, detective?" The overstuffed man huffed as he waddled over to his desk and sat down in his equally overstuffed executive chair. He leaned back and steepled his fingertips, peering over them at the blond detective in a condescending manner.

Hutch looked away from the man, weighing his options and wondering if he should continue this discussion with the warden. He knew he was wasting time here. He could quite literally feel it slipping away from him… Starsky had been missing far too long already, and now to find out that he was in the hands of Simon Marcus's goons, for nearly five days? Dear God… Those animals had done a real number on him in just twenty-four hours… What havoc could they have wreaked on his best friend in ninety-six plus hours?

Hutch struggled to suppress a shiver of fear and dread at the horrific pictures his mind rapidly painted for him. He yanked an imaginary blanket over those pictures and some how managed to regain his internal composure. Goaded by those images, Hutch returned his gaze to the warden, who was attempting to look busy.

The lanky detective locked eyes with the warden, "What most likely happened here was that some inmate wanted to make a name for himself by offing Marcus. Nothing gets the attention of the other inmates like taking out someone famous. Am I right? But then, what does it matter to you? So what if Marcus dies, right? Whose it gonna hurt that there is one less scumbag sliming up your cells? Marcus killed nine people…" Hutch then corrected himself, "He was convicted of killing nine people, and there are likely many more we don't even know about."

He shook his head and paced the length of the room, before returning and smacking his knuckles down hard on the warden's desk as he leaned in to glare at the man for a moment before continuing. "You most likely turned a blind eye to a threat to Marcus. As much as I despise that man, he may be my only means to_ finding_ my partner. By permitting this attack, you may just have caused me to lose theonlypossible lead tomy partner." He leaned in closer to the warden and hissed "You had better pray Marcus survives. You also better pray he recovers quickly enough to help me find my partner before… before he becomes number ten." The irate blond stabbed his index finger into the man's spongy chest, giving it a firm poke.

The warden lifted his head up sharply and raised a haughty eyebrow, "That a threat detective?"

"No, it's a promise." The irate blond wheeled about and exited the warden's office. He would inform Dobey about Marcus and his captain would see to it that Marcus got proper medical care. They only needed him healthy enough to answer a few important questions.

As he exited the Maximum Security Prison, Hutch felt a drop of water on his neck, another hit his hand. A rumble drew his attention upwards. He looked to the heavens above, attempting to look beyond the buildings and the light pollution to see the clouds, even though it was now fully nighttime. A flash of lightning illuminated a portion of the sky, revealing sagging clouds, pregnant with rain.

There was another flash of lightning, closer this time. Hutch automatically counted the seconds until he heard the crack of thunder. The storm was moving closer to the city. The blond sped up his pace, wanting to get to his car before the approaching deluge soaked him. The sky began to increase its rumbling and the lightning flashed ever faster, heralding the storm's arrival. Though the dark hid its approach, he could hear the hiss of rain as a sheet of rain moved towards him, he broke into a sprint, digging in his pocket for his car keys as he ran.

He spotted the LTD under a lone lamp in the parking lot and increased his speed a notch as the sheet of rain drew ever near. He nearly made it when the deluge overtook him and he was drenched in seconds. Feeling a little disheartened, Hutch slowed his run to a trot and upon reaching to car; he noticed that he had forgotten to roll up his window. "Dammit!" But on the bright side, he had managed to remember to lock the door; he rolled his eyes at his stupidity. '_What good was it to lock the doors when you left the driver's side window wide open?' _He chided himself.

Hutch quickly opened the door and slid in, only to find that the front seat was nearly as soaked as he was. He dropped his head and rainwater dripped off his locks and into his lap. How much more of this could he take? He shook his head and took a deep breath, drawing in a huge lungful of air. He held it for a while and exhaled slowly. He rolled up his window, then wiped a tired hand down his face and inserted the key in the ignition, turning it. The engine gave a tired 'errr' and went silent. He tried again and got a clicking sound that quickly faded to complete silence.

"Dammit!" Hutch pounded the steering wheel with his hands; hitting it hard "Dammit!" he repeated as he hit the wheel once more. He gritted his teeth and turned his attention to the rumbling, flashing heavens above him, "Why dammit? Why Marcus and why now? What am I suppose to do now…? Oh God Starsk… I'm tryin'" He gave the steering wheel a final bang before folding his arms over it and dropping his head onto them, he gave into tears of born of sheer frustration.

XXXX

A rumble woke him.

Starsky thought it was his stomach. He adjusted his position on the dirt floor and shivered with the cold. He was curled up as tight as he could get, attempting to keep what little body heat he had. It was an impossible task. He felt a sharp pinch to his finger and jerked his hand away from the pain, automatically sticking his finger in his mouth. He tasted the sharp copper of blood on his fingertip.

Having something liquid on his dry tongue brought on a frenzy of thirst and he sucked at his finger until he realized what he was doing. _'Could I be a vampire if the only blood I suck is my own?'_ He wondered as he popped his finger out of his mouth and held it in front of his face, but it was pitch black in the bottom of the well, he couldn't see his damaged finger, or anything else for that matter.

The saliva on his finger was thick and sticky; he could almost get his fingers to stick together with it. "Hey Mickey lookit this… I've got superglue for spit!" He cackled dryly to his rat companion. A frown crawled across his face as he wondered why he was trying to show the rat anything in the complete darkness of the well. A flash of light high above him caught his attention. He turned his head and looked up; maybe the lawnmower guy was back. He thought about calling out, but decided to wait to see if the action was repeated. He knew he had to conserve his energy if he wanted to survive.

The flash didn't repeat didn't repeat and he didn't hear anything, so he closed his eyes and pulled his arms in close to his chest, pulling his tee shirt over his nose so he could breathe down the neck of it and on to his cold chest. It wasn't much, but it helped a little. He was almost asleep when he heard the rumble again. He cracked one eye open and then the other one. There was another flash of light. He blinked stupidly up at the occasionally lit up hole, far above him.

Moments later, a deep bass rumble reverberated down the shaft of the well. Another flash brightened the top part of the shaft. Starsky perked up a bit more, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. Lightning. It was lightning. The next rumble was louder, which meant the storm was closer. His breath caught in his parched throat, and he began to wish for the rain to fall.

XXXX

The rain had finally stopped, thank god.

Hutch tossed the tow truck guy his money and stuffed his billfold back into his back pocket, the LTD was purring like a contented cat now. He made a face at the car. The rain had stopped a few minutes ago and the air had a nice clean ozone scent. Hutch got back into his car, dreading the squish of water when he sat down. His wet underwear was slowly creeping into his butt crack and he tugged at it from outside of his pants, but gave up after a few tugs. There was no point to it since it would just creep back in later.

He grabbed his mic and informed Dobey about Marcus and his condition. After gaining his captain's assurance that he would see that Simon Marcus got any proper medical care he needed, Hutch hung the mic up. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror _'Hutchinson, you look like hell.'_ He looked away from the mirror and put the car in gear.

After driving back into town, Hutch pulled into Huggy's to get a beer. He was still soaked but well beyond caring about that. He ambled in and plopped himself down on the nearest barstool, halfheartedly pulling at his creeping underwear as he did so.

Huggy took in the blond's bedraggled appearance, and attempted a little levity "You look like something a cat coughed up." He wiped the counter, giving the man time to respond.

Hutch favored him with a sour expression, "Gimme a beer."

"Comin' right up." The bar owner poured a glass and plunked it down on the counter in front of the detective. "I take it that your meeting with Marcus it didn't go well."

The detective shook his head, "It didn't _go_ at all." He proceeded to fill Huggy in on what happened to Marcus. After he finished, he peered up over the rim of his beer at his informant friend, "Please tell me you've got something?"

"You wanna know who the governor is sleeping with, I can tell you. You wanna know if a certain judge is…you know," Huggy lifted a pinky finger straight up in the air, "I can tell you. But any word about Starsky? I can't tell you. There's nothin', zilch, zip… the streets are silent on this-"

"Hug-gy" Hutch broke the black man's name up into two syllables "Tell me something, anything."

The thin man sighed, "What few of Marcus's loyal followers that were left after his sick dreams turned to dust, split Bay City months ago. Went to Utah, or so I heard."

"Utah?" Desperation tinged the softly asked question. "That's it?"

"It's shaky info at best, but yeah, that's it." Dark brown eyes, full of sorrow connected with pleading light blue eyes. They held for several heartbeats before Hutch silently stood up and walked stiffly towards the exit, his beer untouched and his damp underwear still firmly wedged.

"I'll keep tryin', somethin's gotta turn." The bar owner called after the hunched shouldered, retreating figure.

XXXX

"It's comin' Mickey, it's comin'!" Starsky grinned up at the circular hole high above him. He felt like cheering each flash of lightning, each clap of thunder. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. A surge of fresh rain laden air washed down upon him, he closed his eyes and drank it in. The stench of the well, of himself and of the long dead man fled his nostrils, replaced by the clean, fresh breeze.

He licked his dry lips with his equally dry tongue as he craned his head back, anticipating the feel of liquid in his parched mouth. Soon he would have all the water he could drink… until the next time it rained. That thought brought him up short. He needed something to keep water in… but what? The ironic thought of being in a well and worrying about what to keep water in made him giggle. He stopped as quickly as he started, it was no laughing matter.

Starsky automatically patted his pockets and then rolled his eyes at his own antics. He didn't have anything but lint in those pockets. His clothing would not hold much moisture and would dry out after a day or two. He didn't relish the notion of being cold and wet, hypothermia would kill him quicker then thirst would.

He needed to have something to hold water. Who knew when, or if, he would have anotherchance to collect water. He had already attempted to drink his own urine, but he hadn't been able to produce more then a teaspoon or two of the stuff. It had taken a lot of fortitude to force himself to drink it, but he had. It was every bit as vile as he thought it would be. He shivered at the notion. He was never gonna tell anyone what he had done to survive down here, if he ever got out, that is.

A boom of thunder pulled him back to the matter at hand, none of that mattered now - he was going to get real water, but what to hold it in? It hit him. It was disturbing, but he had a solution. He worked to swallow the knot in his throat as he crawled to where he had reburied the dead man's skull and dug it up. He carefully brushed the dirt off of it. "Sorry buddy," he apologized to the grinning skull as he tipped it upside down and knocked the dirt out of the brainstem hole. At least he hoped it was dirt that was coming out.

He removed the jawbone and set it back into the shallow hole, carefully covering it back up. He had to be practical about this, but he thanked the nameless man for his gift of his skull, soon to be a water container. It wouldn't hold a lot of water, but if he drank enough before the well dried up again, he should be able to last another week or so.

Provided that the well didn't fill so full that he drowned. That was a very disconcerting thought. The curly hair man wished he could see Mickey, but knew that rats were great survivors. If too much water got down in the well, the rat would lose its fear and climb on him.

The lightning flashed faster high above him, the thunder rolled rapidly on its heels. The storm was nearly directly over him. It took a great deal of effort, but he climbed to his feet and stood in the center of the well. He could hear the rain falling and closed his eyes in preparation of the coming deluge. It began to hit him and he slowly spread his arms from his sides as he felt the first drops, opening his mouth, sticking out his tongue. Like he had done when he was a child, back in New York, as if he were expecting snowflakes instead of raindrops to fall. The notion brought a brief smile to his face.

A clump hit him in the head. Starsky frowned. '_A clump?'_ He wondered as another one hit him, '_Since when is rainwater clumpy?'_ He popped his eyes open and squinted upwards. Dirt continued to rain down and scraping sounds could be heard between thunderclaps. Slowly the circle above him disappeared and the dirt stopped falling.

The hole was covered.

"No!" he gasped.

Someone had covered the well; there would be no rain, no water.

Starsky tilted his head back and screamed, "NOOOO!"

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

Hi All,

Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. I injured my arm and have to type one handed (or my sister Shawne will shake her 'Hutchinson warning finger' at me – Eep!) One handed typing SUCKS. Okay, enough about me. Not too many answers in this chapter. There will be answers in chapter 8. Really. I mean it this time!

Thanks to Kreek, my wonderful friend and sounding board, the same goes forEli, wuemsel, Shawne and I can't leave wondrous Pony out either… **;-) **

**Warning!** Darkness ahead, if you are sensitive, please do not read this chapter.

**Chapter 7**

_Metro, late Friday Afternoon_

Hutch stared at the small desktop calendar that sat in the center of the desk. Starsky's empty chair was directly behind it, framing the small cheap, calendar. It was the fifth day since Starsky had gone missing, '_had been kidnapped'_, he silently amended. The room hummed with voices, but the words were indistinct, he let them wash over him, he couldn't care less about what the others in the room were saying. Five days… five whole days… a lifetime to be held captive by Simon's crazy followers and just this morning, Simon Marcus had slipped into a coma. Another lead bit the dust, at least until the man recovered - if he recovered.

Police departments all over Utah had been informed and were on the look out for Marcus's followers and were to question any they found. Since a fellow police officer was involved, they were very keen to assist Bay City Police in any way possible. Still, it had been five long days - and there was nothing he could do about it. The blond reached out and flipped the little calendar over and contemplated knocking everything off the desktop, including the big, pink, grinning piggy bank that Rosie Dobey had given to Starsky as a birthday present.

The feel of a hand on his shoulder caused him to twitch at the unexpected touch.

"Hutch, I've got the lab results from the tox screen from the cult follower, Dick Clemons… Hutch?"

He blinked and looked up at the hand's owner with temporary confusion before it turned in to recognition, "I'm sorry Cheryl, I must have been daydreaming." He wiped his hands down his face and stifled a yawn.

She gave him a commiserating look, "From the expression on your face, I would have to say it's more of a day _nightmare_, than a daydream," She quirked her lips up in the corners "if that makes any sense. Would you like some coffee? I just brewed a pot."

"Yes," and as she turned to get it; Hutch tugged at her sleeve, stopping her, "No wait, you were trying to tell me something a moment ago, what was it?"

"Dick Clemons, the cult follower who died in the interrogation room yesterday. Well, he had massive amounts of cyanide and some slightly lower levels of strychnine in his system. It was overkill; either one by its self would have killed him several times over."

He reached out and squeezed her hands in his. "Thanks Cheryl." The lanky blond then carefully stood up and putting both hands on his in the small of his back, he slowly leaned backwards, trying to loosen the knot in his overtired, screaming muscles. He hadn't slept very much in the last five days.

"Hutch, could I see you in my office, please?" Dobey's voice was low.

Cheryl dismissed herself after squeezing the blond's arm and shoving a brimming mug of fresh coffee in his hands.

Hutch nodded his farewell at her and entered Dobey's office. Ice water filled his veins as he caught his captain's grim expression, whatever the big man was about to say, it wasn't good.

"Have a seat Ken." The hefty captain motioned to the chairs before his desk.

Hutch sat down on the edge of one of the two chairs located there, his eyes slid to the empty one beside him then back to Dobey. He quickly downed the hot coffee like it was a shot of whisky; he grimaced as it burned all the way down his throat, he set the empty mug on Dobey's desk.

He watched as the big man turned away and dug in his various pockets for something; he dug around until he produced a handkerchief. He then spent several seconds blotting his face. Each dab increased the blond's ire. "All right, what is it? Why'd you call me in here Cap'n? Is it a new lead?"

Dobey looked over at him through his bushy brows "I just got off the phone with Cabrillo. Dick Clemons had been an inmate there for nearly a year; he was admitted shortly after we rescued Starsky from Marcus's followers at the zoo. Clemons tried to jump off Bay City Bridge and attempted to take a few State Patrol officers with him. He was found incompetent to stand for trial, so he was sent to Cabrillo, been there ever since, that was until he escaped two days." Dobey looked at the calendar on the wall, "Make that three days ago. They were doing a bed check and he was gone."

"Wait…" Hutch stood up and walked away from the desk, he looked over his shoulder, "What're you saying Cap? How could he have kidnapped Starsky if he just escaped three days ago?" Confusion made its tracks across the exhausted blond's face.

"It's not possible that he kidnapped Starsky, he couldn't have. Maybe we're looking at this all wrong… maybe Starsky's stewardess girl friend _did_ set him up some how. Maybe Marcus's goons have him, or maybe we're chasing our tails and aren't even looking at the right suspects." Dobey grunted as he stood up to get some water from the cooler in the corner. He tried to hand the paper cup to his tired and disheveled detective.

Hutch waved it off, "Maybe, maybe, maybe! _Maybe_ he's in Utah; _maybe_ his girlfriend set him up… alls we've got is a basket full of _maybes._ That and a quarter will get us a cup of coffee. Why would Clemons do it?"

"Confess to the crime and kill him self? He was legally insane, suicidal and he was part of a cult that has a serious grudge against you and Starsky. Being that he was one of Simon's followers, he had to have more then one screw loose and they're not the most mentally stable bunch of people to begin with."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah… All we have are questions, I want some answers dammit! We're just chasing our tails and we're not any closer to finding him then we were five days ago!" The irate detective snatched up a handful of folders off of Dobey's desk and shook them in his captain's face, "What good are these files? What good is it to know that Clemons had nothing to do with Starsky's kidnapping? What good are we? Answer me that captain!" An unexpected wave of fatigue washed over him, weakening his legs and he slumped down into the nearest chair. The files spilled out of his hand and all over the floor. "What good are we?" He buried his face in his hands.

Dobey crossed the room and placed a hand on a slumped shoulder, "Hutch, you're not thinking straight, you're exhausted… you haven't slept in days… you're wearing the same clothes you've had on since Monday… you need a bath and you need to sleep. You're no good to anyone one like this. Go home, you need to take a break."

The lanky blond glared up at his superior and shrugged his shoulder to remove the comforting hand, "What I _need_ is a solid lead, what I _need_ is to find Starsky!" a yawn caught him off guard and cracked his jaw wide open, despite his best efforts to subdue it. He struggled to maintain his glare as he stood up, fighting off yet another yawn as he did so.

Dobey moved around to stand before him and he leaned in to catch Hutch's eyes before speaking, "Ken, you're not alone here, you're not the only one looking. You're not the only one who cares about finding Starsky… every cop in Bay City is looking, every cop in Utah is looking, we'll find him, son. We _will_ find him." He reached out to place his big hand on the young detective's shoulder; the lanky detective jerked his body backwards, away from the touch. Dobey didn't try again; "Go home Hutchinson, I'll call you if I hear even a peep."

The only response he gave his superior was to slam Dobey's office door shut as he exited.

'_How dare Dobey tell me to go home, to give up?'_ Hutch stalked down the hallway, it vaguely registered that people moved quickly out of his way as he increased his stride to its maximum length, until he was walking as quickly as he could without breaking into a jog.

'_That's right, keep movin'. _He glowered at his fellow officers as he made his way towards the garage; almost smiling at the startled looks some gave him. No one protested or got angry with him. Some had worry in their eyes, others pity.

"You don't wanna go that way."

Hutch pulled up short, to stare at the figure before him, "Why not?" He snapped.

"Reporters are looking for you. Go out the back way, we'll keep 'em busy on this end." Detective Wofford gave him a lopsided grin. "Better get going, you know how reporters are."

Hutch nodded and turned on his heel, heading towards the lesser-used exit into the garage. He turned the corner, and found that the hallway was lined with fellow officers, who started clapping as he walked towards the door at the end of the hall. Then they stopped, did a precision about-face and filtered back into the main hallways, heading back to whatever duties they had.

The lanky detective's eyes began to burn; he spotted a bubbler and stopped for a drink. _'I'm thirsty'_, he told himself as he forced water by the lump in his throat. He didn't want to feel; his feelings had become a raw wound, aching and sore with no form of relief in sight. He denied himself all forms of comfort. He couldn't accept it, not when there was likely no comfort for Starsky. But the show of support from his bother and sister cops, offered minimal, welcome, relief.

He wiped the water dribbles from his chin with the sleeve of his shirt and stared at the distorted image of his face in the metal fountainhead of the bubbler. Bubbler. Starsky always laughed at him when he called it that. He had carefully explained this term to his transplanted New York-come-Bay City partner. Bubbler was a term that he had picked up from his grandfather when he stayed with his farm in Wisconsin, something he had done every summer until grandpa died. That word was one of the few things he had left of his grandfather; he wasn't about to give it up. Nor was he about to give up his search for his friend.

The blond looked at his image again, twisted and bent by the curve of the fixture, _'I'm not giving up, do ya hear me Starsk? I'm not giving up! Whatever is happening to you, don't you dare give up either. I will find you, no matter what it takes! No stone unturned, no person unquestioned…'_

His thoughts trailed off as he remembered that there was someone he hadn't talked to. It was a long shot, but what the hell? What else was a White Knight to do, but tilt at a few windmills? With an ember of hope clutched tightly in his heart, Hutch quickly made his way to his car.

XXXX

Starsky was awakened by a sharp pain in his fingertip and he slowly pried open his heavy eyelids to find out the cause. It took some doing to focus his blurry vision. A small movement helped him find the source. A tickle over the small pain tightened his line of vision and revealed Mickey the rat. Mickey bent down and licked the blood as it welled up from the wound. The pain was from when the rat had bitten him.

He watched with growing disgust as the rat lapped at the slow flow. Another sharp nip and he found the energy to move his hand; the rat scuttled a few feet away only to stare back at him with beady, unblinking black eyes. Blood was smeared around its mouth. His blood.

Starsky's upper lip curled in distaste, "Why Mickey? I – I thought-" a dry cough interrupted him, his voice little more then a dry, whispery rasp, "I thought we was pals…" He thought about killing the creature, but then he'd be alone. The rat was better company then the grinning skull, than again, the skull wouldn't try to bite him when he was asleep either.

Blue eyes contemplated the rodent for a while. "We're both just rats in a trap, ain't we? A pair of rats just tryin' to survive… you're just tryin' to survive… can't hate ya for that, can I?" He pushed an elbow underneath himself and slowly worked his way into a sitting position. "But that doesn't mean I wanna end up like poor Marie Prevost."

Another cough interrupted him; it was a dry hacking thing. He was far weaker today then he had been yesterday. He couldn't believe that they would deny him rainwater to drink. It had angered him. He had shouted and pounded the walls, not that it had done any good. They had given him a life sentence. Now he was beginning to understand that it was a 'life sentence' until he died.

Starsky found his rock and worked at scratching another mark diagonally across the other four. Five marks. Five days in this stinking pit of despair. He let the rock fall from his hand and rested his head against the wall of the well. He heard a scuffling sound and tilted his head just enough to see the cause.

The rat backed away and down into the hole it had dug, until only its bloody muzzle and black soulless eyes remained visible over the rim.

"What? You never heard of Marie Prevost?" he rasped in a conversational tone, "She was a silent film star… made 105 films in her day… she had some hard knocks,went into seclusion… and drank a lot… one day she died. They didn't find her for a while… and when they did, they found her little dog…"

Starsky looked at the rat, and tried to swallow the thick, pasty bile that rose up in his throat, "Her little dog…" He stopped, breaking off eye contact with the rat; he looked up at the wooden structure that now covered the well. It allowed some light in and he thought he could make out the bottom of a bucket hanging high above him; mocking and taunting him… why hang a bucket over a dry well? It was yet another level of torture… another reminder of his inability to get even a drop of water.

He reached up a shaky hand towards the bucket, so high above. Gazing longingly at it, he whispered to the rat as he let his arm drop back down to his side, "Her little dog… _survived_."

**TBC**

**Author Notes:** The information about Marie Prevost is true. She died of a combination of self-imposed malnutrition and alcoholism. Though it is open to interpretation if her Dachshund bit her in an attempt to wake her up or _(eep!)_ did the unthinkable in order to survive. Marie Prevost was honored with a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, which can be found at 6201 Hollywood Blvd. There is also a song about her tragic end called "Marie Provost" by Brit rocker Nick Lowe. (The slight name change is from NL.)


	8. Chapter 8

Hi All,

Here is chapter 8. Yes, no waiting for weeks this time. --_GASP!-- _I went on a typing frenzy yesterday -two handed, pain be damned! That's what pain meds are for, darn it!

Questions will finally be answered in this chapter.

Thanks to: 'E', 'Just E' or 'Just I' _–VBG-_ and my psychic sis, Shawne. _–G-_

Special Thanks: to Kreek and Pony for their help. Thanks ladies!

**Warning:** Some lauguage.

**Chapter 8**

Hutch stared at the parallel rows of doorbell buttons for a long time; debating whether to push the one he was interested in or not. "What the hell are you doing here, Hutchinson?" He muttered. He shook his head and looked at the flowers in his hand, he didn't bother to sniff them, as he didn't want to set off his allergies.

He had done some thinking on as he drove away from work. And now he was thinking this was a bad idea. '_Then again, I'm all ready here,'_ Hutch closed his eyes and stabbed at the doorbell. The secured door buzzed and he entered, shaking his head. The reason for having the doorbells and secured door was filter the people who entered, to keep those who had no business in there - out. But then Peggy wasn't the brightest bulb in the fixture.

He boarded the elevator and got off on her floor. Then, gritting his teeth, Hutch knocked on her door.

"_Just a minute!"_ Her muffled voice chimed from inside.

Seconds later, she opened the door. She blinked up at him, "Kenny… what a surprise! What are you doing here?"

Hutch was mentally asking himself the same thing. He cleared his throat, "I owe you an apology." He handed her the flowers. "I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday."

"What's my name?" She crossed her arms over her ample chest, the flowers rested in the crook of one elbow.

He gapped at her, "What?"

"I'll accept your apology - **if **you can tell me what my name is." She started tapping her foot on the floor. "I'm waiting Kenny."

He gave an exasperated sigh, "Look Penny-"

"Patty! My name is Patty! Pat-tee!" She threw the flowers at him and slammed the door shut.

Hutch rested his head on the closed door and wondered if it was worth trying again.

XXXX

It had taken a lot of doing, but Hutch had gotten the information he wanted from Patty. And it was a fact that he would never, ever forget her name again. Nor would he ever see her again and that was just fine with him.

The lanky blond knew now he was grasping at straws, tilting at any windmill in sight, but he had to. He would do anything to find his partner, even if it meant consulting a fortuneteller - though he would have rather have used Colandra, whose abilities were proven. But the man was dead; so the fortuneteller was it. He wondered whom he would consult next if this long shot didn't pan out.

He got back on the elevator and a nicely dressed couple boarded with him. The doors glided shut and the car began to move towards the ground level. Hutch could hear the pair sniff and exchange a few whispers, before the man hit a button, the elevator stopped at the next floor and they got off, giving him dirty looks as they left. After the doors closed, he took a sniff of one of his armpits and he's eyes watered at the intensity of the scent. _Okay, maybe a quick shower and a change of clothes first. _

_Venice Place_

Feeling a little revitalized after his shower, Hutch sat down on his couch to put on his shoes. A pain arched though his back muscles as he leaned forward to tie his shoes, so he leaned back on the couch to relieve the cramp. Rested his head on the back, he closed his eyes, willed the ache away.

After what seemed like a few moments, he cracked his eyes open and lifted his head, only to find that now he had a crick in his neck. "Oh damn!" Hutch rubbed at this new pain and looked around his apartment. Something wasn't right. He couldn't quite figure out what it was, so he put his shoes on and grabbed his car keys.

He stepped out into the street and looked up. The sun was overhead. Directly overhead. It had been early evening when he had gotten home; the only way the sun could be in this position was if he had fallen asleep for hours. "SHIT!"

He looked at his watch, it was 12:25, and it was Saturday. He had slept straight through the night and well into the next day. He had wasted far too much time sleeping. He ran to his car and burned rubber as he pulled away from the curb, heading for the address he had gotten from Patty.

XXXX

It was a long drive to fortuneteller Ruby Tuesday's home. The winding gravel road edged along a high cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. But Hutch did not take time to look at the sights; they held no interest for him.

He had contacted Metro on his way and found out that Simon Marcus was improving. He might even soon start showing signs of emerging from his coma. Hutch had mixed feelings about that. On one hand, he needed to talk to Marcus, on the other, he dreaded talking to him - dreaded what Marcus might say…or not say. He hated playing the word games Simon Marcus loved. But he would take anything to get the information he needed to find Starsky.

Hutch pulled into the yard. The house was small, with a white picket fence. A small garage was just visible in the back. He got out of his car and opened the gate, carefully closing it behind him. He knocked several times, but no one answered the door. He hoped he hadn't wasted the long trip out here. The fortuneteller might be back at the boardwalk, plying her trade.

Ruby Tuesday didn't have a phone. Hutch knew could have saved himself the trip if she had had one and hadn't answered a call. But the only way he'd find out was to make the trip. Now that he was here, he figured he had better have a good look around before he left.

The woman might be around back somewhere. He followed a little brick path to the backyard. When he got back there, he stopped to admire it. The place was a gardener's dream. The lawn was beautiful, immaculately manicured. The flowerbeds were blooming, and the variety of plants was astounding. The landscaping and layout were meant to be admired, if one had the time. Which he didn't.

"Hello? Anyone home?" He hollered it several times as he moved about the large yard. There was no answer. He shook his head sadly - just one more windmill uselessly tilted at, yet another wasted trip. He dropped his head and concentrated on breathing. He had to keep trying.

He lifted his head back up, and that's when he spotted a wishing well. It was out in the open, nothing around it but a wide expanse of grass. He hadn't seen in until before because a large dogwood bush had hidden it from his initial view.

He needed to leave, to find and follow other leads. He might look for the fortuneteller at the boardwalk where he and Starsky had met her last weekend. But he looked back at the well.

His grandparents had had one in their yard. This well reminded him of that one. He felt drawn to the well.

Telling himself it was pure nostalgia, he walked over to the well. The earth around it was freshly tilled, as though waiting for planting of seeds. The well was wooden and painted white. The little slanted roof that covered it had red shingles. Closer examination showed some wear and tear on the structure, but the paint job was fairly recent. Still, it looked like it had been there a long time. The finishing touch was a small wooden bucket handing on the rope, as though waiting to be reeled down into the depths of the well, to draw water from bellow.

The blond wondered if the well's reel mechanism was functional or if it was just for show. He turned to leave but then turned back and dug into his pockets until he found a coin. Starsky would've laughed at the thought of him making a wish at a wishing well. He prepared to flip the coin.

"I wouldn't waste my money, if I were you." A female voice called out.

Startled, Hutch whipped about to confront the speaker. "What?"

"I wouldn't waste my money on that well if I were you, " the fortuneteller repeated. "No wishes ever come true from that well. I don't know how many times I tried. And believe me when I say I did a lot of wishing. I wasted too much money in that well. I've come to the conclusion that it's dead. It's a dead wishing well, with nothing but a worm in the bottom of it. It's not worth wasting money on." The woman drew nearer "Now, who are you and what are you doing on my property?" She put her hands hips and fixed him with a hard look.

Hutch looked at her; she was attractive enough without all the heavy eye shadow and makeup. She didn't have her gaudy gypsy/fortuneteller garb and bangles on either. The red tresses must have been a wig, for her hair now was medium length, dishwater brown.

He pulled out his ID and showed her, "I'm Detective Ken Hutchinson, Bay City police."

"Oh yes, I remember you now, I wasn't doing anything illegal last weekend, I have a permit." She turned and walked away. "And I don't give refunds, so if that's what you want, you're wasting your time. And mine."

"Wait! Miss Tuesday, I'm not here for a refund," Hutch started after her, but then he remembered the well. He turned back and pulled his coin out again. Maybe it was a waste of money; yet he made his wish anyway: _'Please let me find Starsky.'_ He quickly tossed the coin into the well. He turned back around and trotted to catch up with the fortuneteller.

XXXX

A pinging sound made Starsky open his eyes. He was too weak to sit up now. The pinging sound continued until something small hit him in the chest. It took a lot out of him to pick up the object; his fingers and hand didn't want to cooperate with his wishes. They had started to swell some time ago. The same went for his feet. Since he still had his shoes on, the swelling bulged out the top of his Adidas and up his ankles a bit.

His hand trembled as he brought the item close to his face and squinted at it. It was a coin. Someone had just dropped a coin down the well. He looked up and tried to call. Only a quiet squeak came out. He tried again "H-help! Down here… h-help!" he rasped. His meager energy reserve depleted, Starsky slipped back into unconsciousness.

XXXX

"Would you like some tea, detective?" Miss Ruby Tuesday asked as she stood at the stove, removing the whistling teakettle.

Hutch shook his head, "No, I'll take some water though." He watched as she got a glass from the cupboard, filled it and handed it to him. "Thanks." The inside of the house was just as neat as the outside; the floors were wooden and the walls were white and austere. It was nothing like he had expected. A few photographs hung on the walls, but he was too far away to see the faces in them.

"So detective, if you don't want a refund, what are you doing all the way out here? I assure you my permit is valid." She went into the adjoining room and returned with a document. "See? All legal and proper." She thrust it at him.

Hutch held up a hand, "I'm sure it is. What I need is…" He coughed nervously, "It's about my friend. You remember him; he was with me and two ladies last weekend."

"I'm not giving him a refund either." The woman crossed her arms.

"No, it's nothing like that. What I-I need is a little help finding him, he's disappeared." Hutch stood up and looked out the kitchen window, staring in the direction of the well. Then, he turned back around to face the fortuneteller.

She smiled sadly at him, "I'm sorry; that's not what I do for my business. I read palms and use tarot cards to tell fortunes. Heck, I even read tea leaves sometimes. And before you ask, the crystal ball is just for show. People expect one to be on the table." She shrugged. "Who am I to mess with their preconceived notions?"

It was another dead end. The woman wasn't going to be any help, but then, Collandra hadn't wanted to help at first either. Hutch tried again, "You told the girl I was with that she would get that job she interviewed for."

The fortuneteller gave a light laugh. "I wouldn't get much repeat business if all the news I handed out was bad, now would I? Look detective, you came a long way for nothing. I'm sorry I can't help you."

Hutch expelled a long, hard sigh, "So am I lady, so am I."

She escorted him to the front door and let him out.

Out of habit, he reached out and shook her hand, "Thank you Miss Tuesday."

She tilted her head and looked at him with a confused look on her face, "Thank me? For what? I didn't tell you anything."

He released her hand, "For being honest with me. Someone else might have tried to lie, to make an easy buck, but not you. Thank you for that."

She unblinkingly stared up at him for a while, and then spoke, "You can thank me by never having a mustache. Trust me, it'll make you look like some seedy porn star."

Now it was Hutch's turn to stare; he then shook his head and walked towards his car _'Imagine me with a mustache… ridiculous!'_ he touched is upper lip. _'Then again –'_ Whap! Hutch fell down as his shin connected with a bicycle. He went to his knees before catching himself. As he started to get up, he found that his pant leg was wrapped around one of the bike's pedals. The pedal was missing part of its rubber tread. The exposed rounded metal must have snagged his pant leg. He cursed as he untangled himself, then cursed some more when he noticed the rip in his pants.

Hutch stood up and set the bike back up. It hadn't been there before. That explained how the woman had gotten home without him hearing her. He hadn't heard her pulling up because she had ridden a bike. He brushed the dust off of his knees and sheepishly looked back at the door to see if she had seen his klutziness. She had. He could feel the blush work its way up from his neck to his face. He waved at her to show he was okay; she waved back at him and then closed the door.

"Way to go Hutchinson. Why don't you watch where you're goin'?" He muttered as he got back into his car and backed up so he could turn around so he could head back down the gravel driveway to make the long journey home.

**TBC**

Author notes: Months ago Pony gave me the idea about 'Hutch's 70's porn star mustache' I had to use it, with her permission of course!


	9. Chapter 9

Hi all,

Thanks for taking the time to read and review, it is most appreciated! There are more answers in this installment. Any remaining questions will _(hopefully)_ be answered in chapter 10.

As always, I must thank the Usual Suspects for their unusually high quality of friendship, help and support! You ladies are the very best!

**Chapter 9**

Ruby twitched the curtain back into place. The detective was gone. That had been far too close. Hutchinson had almost found his friend. It had been a good thing she had known something was wrong and had returned home when she had. Her mama had always told her that she had a third eye – a minds eye- that it would guide her and it had. It was now telling her that the detective would return, though she couldn't tell just when. Her vision was hazy in regards to that.

She went to the photos of her family and caressed the glass over their still, cold, photographed faces. She grabbed her gardening gloves and headed out to the garage to collect the supplies she would need. It was time to take the garbage out.

XXXX

Hutch headed back towards the highway, his brain churning as he pondered his next move. Something kept nagging in the back of his mind. Something wasn't quite right. He looked in his rear view mirror at the road that led to the secluded home of Miss Tuesday.

An object rapidly moved into his peripheral vision and he slammed on his brakes, narrowly missing a young teen on his bike.

"Watch where the hell you're goin' man!" The kid shouted as he flipped him the finger and continued on his way.

Hutch wiped a shaky hand down his face. If his reaction time had been any slower, that kid would have been gone with the Schwinn, "Gone with the Schwinn." He chuckled nervously at his own wit. That had been a close call; he'd almost hit that kid. He eased his foot off the brake and looked around carefully. Kids were like deer, where there was one, there was likely to be several more around, somewhere.

'_Schwinn… Schwinn…' _He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he glanced about, the LTD slowly inching forwards. '_Wait… wasn't that the brand of bicycle that Ruby had?' _He stepped back on the brake and closed his eyes as he envisioned it. The bike itself was a powder blue. The swooping stylized letters had been white, spelling out the word _Schwinn_. He reached down and fingered his torn pant leg. Her pedal had caught it because part of the tread was missing. Hutch felt like he had just been gut punched. It couldn't be? Could it?

Hutch grabbed the radio mic "Zebra three to control!" He pounded the hapless mic on the dashboard of his car when they didn't respond quickly enough for him. "Answer me dammit!"

"_Go ahead, Zebra three. What's you're beef Hutch? You sound a little uptight."_

Normally that kind sort of response from Mildred would have made him laugh, but not today, "Can it Mildred! Contact Dobey and tell 'im I think I know where Starsky is! I want some backup at 5150 Pacific View Road, gimme an ambulance too!" He didn't wait for a response, just dropped the mic and slapped the mars light on the roof of his car. The beat-up LTD's engine roared as the blond stomped down hard on the accelerator. He skillfully spun a tight u-turn, pealing rubber as he headed back the way he just come.

XXXX

Starsky awoke to the now familiar feel of the rat nibbling and licking at his fingers. He blinked dumbly at the rodent as it wavered and shimmered in his blurry vision. He shook his hand to get Mickey off of it. It was only a matter of time now. It was likely that no one would ever find his body down here. He'd end up just like that other guy, the owner of the skull he had found. He was dying, he could feel it.

His feverish brain skittered about, even now doing what little it could to avoid the inevitable. He clutched the coin tightly in his left hand and hung on to it for all he was worth. He wasn't gonna go down easily. He wasn't ready to give up just yet.

And then dirt began to rain down on him.

XXXX

Hutch's LTD roared up the road, mars light spinning, kicking up clouds of dust and gravel as he hustled back to the fortuneteller's home. He slammed on the brakes, kicking more dust in the air. He could hear the car's gears grind as he attempted to shift it into park, he didn't go far enough over with the lever, and the LTD was in neutral. Hutch didn't notice as he was out and running, leaving the car to continue to roll forward, it only stopped when it hit the white picket fence.

The lanky detective vaulted the fence and ran towards the house, pulling his Magnum as he did so. Something caught his attention off to the right. It was Ruby, she let go of the wheelbarrow she was pushing and it tipped over. She raced across the yard, away from him. Hutch bolted after her.

The fortuneteller disappeared in some bushes; Hutch shoved his way past the thick barrier only to nearly plummet off a cliff. He was only barely able to keep himself from falling off the cliff. His toes hung over the sheer drop; he windmilled his arms to keep from going over the edge. He looked down as bits of rock tumbled and banged their way down the face of the cliff. He caught his balance and heaved a sigh of relief before looking for the woman.

He looked around and saw that Ruby Tuesday was standing about ten feet away from him.

"Wh-what did I m-miss?" she asked, panting for breath as she watched him intently.

"What?" Hutch was nearly as winded as she was, after his frantic drive, short sprint and near tumble off the cliff. Since she was unarmed and on the brink of suicide, he put his gun back into its holster.

"I must've missed something, something that brought you back to me. I must've gotten a little careless, what was it?"

"Please step away from the edge and I'll tell you." Hutch urged, using his softest, most persuasive voice as he held out a hand to her.

"I can't do that detective. I'm not going to jail. I'd rather go to Heaven." She smiled at him. "Can't you let me go? We're on the same side, you know."

'_Oh… so that's how this is gonna go_.' "Please step away from the edge." He coaxed as he wiggled his fingers a little to encourage her to grab them. She didn't seem to notice, so he continued talking to her. "What did you mean when you said we're on the same side, Ruby?" He inched towards her.

"We want the same thing officer, we both want justice." She snuck a peek over the ledge.

He sighed, "We have courts and laws for that." While she had looked down, Hutch edged nearer.

She returned her attention back to him, "Yes and that system fails far too often. The guilty walk away without ever paying the proper price for their crimes. My system of justice is better."

Trying to buy time until backup arrived Hutch continued with his questions, "How is your system better?"

"I'm judge, jury and executioner. Justice and I work together." She smiled brightly. "The guilty always get a life sentence; they are imprisoned until the day they die, then God gets his turn. He drops the ultimate gavel on them and they spend an eternity burning in Hell." Ruby laughed.

Hutch gulped at that, but covered it by asking, "Where's my partner?"

"His sentence has been carried out." She gave a firm nod.

A lump formed in his throat, but he managed to speak, "Sentence? What did you do to h-" Hutch cut off the accusation, fearing it might make her jump to her death. "What did he ever do to you?" He moved ever closer to the fortuneteller, she didn't seem to notice.

"When I touched him last weekend, I knew he was guilty. I always know. It's my gift." She sighed. "His case was difficult to try, it took longer then all the others. But in the end he was found guilty."

Hutch gasped, "Guilty? Guilty of what?"

"Murder, he's killed people. I saw him shoot a car… the gas tank exploded and the men burned to death. Then he just rode away on a motorbike… Left the scene of his crime, like the devil himself was chasing him. I knew he was guilty when I first saw him. And then when I touched him…" Ruby rubbed her arms as though cold, "that was when I knew he would be the death of me. And he would not be tried for it. He would once more get away with causing death without ever serving a single day behind bars. I couldn't let that happen. Justice will be served."

"What?" Confused by the mad logic, the blond slowly shook his head, "I don't understand… you're not dead. And those men you saw, they were kidnappers who had just shot me. Detective Starsky shot the tank so the fuel would run out, thereby stopping the car... Contrary to what you see in the movies or television, it's very unusual for a car to blow up like that. There was no way he could have known that would happen."

Hutch continued speaking as he closed the gap between them, "There is no reason for this, please let me help you." He moved an inch closer, keeping his hand out towards her as he kept talking, "You said his sentence was carried out…" He let the words dangle, trying to drawn her in, gain her confidence so she would tell him where Starsky was.

Ruby quickly counted on her gloved fingers before looked up at him, "It's now day six, by now justice was served. They never live past day six."

"Who never live past six days?" Hutch gulped, 'W_as Starsky already dead?' _No, he wouldn't allow himself to believe it.

"The guilty ones, of course." Ruby pulled off her gardening gloves and let them drop over the side of the cliff. They fluttered down the face of the cliff like flower petals.

Hutch stiffened, "Please, just step away from the edge Ruby. Please?"

She put her hands on her hips, "You must think I'm stupid. I know you what you have in mind and I didn't even have to consult my crystal ball. You are going to try to stop me from jumping. Then you'll send me to jail, where a psychiatrist'll evaluate me. I won't be free to continue my life's work. I can't let that happen." She stepped closer to the edge.

He edged a hair closer to her. "Please, step back, just a little, so we can talk… Why are you doing this?"

"Why? I was raised to believe that you get what you pray for. After that farce of a trial five years ago, I couldn't wait any longer for Him to drop the gavel. I decided to do it all myself… I made sure that the guilty paid the price for his crimes. And he did. And they do. I can always tell when someone is guilty. They can't hide the truth from me. I am judge, jury and executioner. Justice and me have been friends for years now, but now it looks like it's not just us, justice. Not anymore." She stepped off the ledge and fell without a scream.

"NO!" Hutch leapt forward, trying to grab her hand, his chest slammed into the rough rocks on the edge of the cliff, his arm reaching downward towards her. "No!"

He closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to watch as she bounced off of rocky protrusions that stuck out of the cliff face. But he couldn't stop the sounds of muffled thuds of the body as it dropped and crack of bouncing rocks that had been loosened by the fortuneteller's fall.

Abruptly, the sounds stopped. The blond slowly opened his eyes. The woman's body had landed chest down, her arms and legs were bent and twisted into impossible angles. Eerily enough, her face was turned upwards and even at this distance, she seemed to be staring at him. Hutch closed his eyes and carefully backed away from the cliff's edge. When he was on firmer ground, he carefully stood up and headed back the way he came.

"Where the hell's my back up?" Hutch huffed as he sprinted towards the house. There might be a clue or something in the house, something that would tell him were his best friend was. Starsky had to be somewhere on the property.

Hutch burst into the small house and called out Starsky's name as he threw open doors and tore through the home. One room caught his attention, not because his friend was in it, but that it was made up to look like a courtroom. Curiously, there were large spot lights and tape recorders placed strategically throughout the room. He wondered briefly, what they might have been used for before his worried mind skittered back to the whereabouts of his missing friend.

The thought of Starsky having to endure a mock trial made him shudder. What made him even more ill was the realization that Ruby Tuesday had been at this for a while. Serial killers –if that's what she turned out to be - usually got more proficient, and their fantasies more elaborate, with each kill, if that held true in this case… A cold knot formed deep in the lanky detective's belly. Starsky could very well be dead. But Hutch was not about to give up hope just yet.

He headed back to the kitchen and looked out the window above the sink to the backyard. Where the hell could his partner be? The fortuneteller wasn't a very big woman. Where could someone her size move a live person or dump a body? He then remembered the crazy things she had said to him when he was looking at the wishing well. She had said something about the well being dead, with only a worm in the bottom of it… The well! That had to be where Starsky was.

Hutch dashed out the door and across the lawn "Starsky! Starsky!" He slipped and fell to his knees in his haste; he got back up and ran around the huge dogwood bush to the wishing well. The wooden structure had been moved a few feet and the shaft of the well was visible, there was loose dirt and a shovel next to the rim.

His blood froze in his veins, it looked liked she had been about to dump dirt into the well... most likely to bury Starsky. Another thought hit him; maybe she had had time to dump dirt into the well already.

Frantic, Hutch flopped to his belly "Starsky! Starsk? I'm here! C'mon buddy, answer me!" he shouted down the well. He tilted his head and listened for a response. Once his echoes faded, there were no sounds issuing from the well.

Time was of the essence and he had to get to Starsky now, if his friend had been buried in dirt, he only had a few minutes to dig him out before he suffocated. Hutch got to his feet and bolted to the garage to look for some rope so he could get down to his friend. Just inside the garage door was a rope ladder. He grabbed it and ran back to the well.

Realizing he needed to tie the ladder to something sturdy, he crashed his car right through the white picket fence and drove across the yard to the well. He quickly grabbed two rocks from a flowerbed boarder and chocked his wheels. The blond tied one end of the rope ladder to the frame of his car and carefully dropped the rest down the well.

Fear fumbled his fingers as he struggled to tie a sturdy knot. After tugging hard on the rope to make sure it was secure, he started down the ladder. As he descended, the smell of decay, human waste and death hit him. He choked and gagged at the stench as he hastened down the ladder, fearing he was already too late.

Hutch's eyes adjusted to the dim of the well and he breathed through his mouth, trying hard not to think about what it might mean. As he neared the bottom, he could make out the form of his friend, lying on his side next to the wall. "Starsky? C'mon buddy, don't do this."

Worried that he might be too late, Hutch hustled the rest of the way down the ladder, dropping the last few feet to the ground. He knelt next to the still form. About a two-inch layer of dirt covered Starsky and the bottom of the well. The blond brushed the dirt off of his friend's head as he leaned down close and put his hand to Starsky's cool face, as he listened for breaths and felt for a pulse.

The blond couldn't feel one at first, so he repositioned his fingers and was relieved to feel a weak and rapid pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. He then leaned in to make certain Starsky was breathing; he was, and those were rapid and shallow. Hutch released the breath he had been holding. "That'sa boy Starsk, I knew you wouldn't let me down." He set about gently brushing the dirt off of his friend so he could check for injuries or broken bones.

As he proceeded, it bothered Hutch how cool to the touch Starsky was. After removing much of the dirt, he eased the limp body into his lap and tenderly caressed the slack face to remove any remaining dirt from around his eyes, nose and ears. He carefully cradled the brunet's dirty head in the crook of his arm. He took in how sunken Starsky's eyes were, how blue his lips were and also noted the slight swelling of his hands and feet, which could indicate poor circulation.

He took a small pinch of skin on his friend's arm and gently pulled up, before releasing it. The bit of skin stayed tented several long moments before slowly collapsing and smoothing out. It was terrifying to see, for it meant his friend was extremely dehydrated. Hutch hugged him a little closer, fearing how near Starsky was to dying.

And if he hadn't come back when he had, if he had been even a few minutes later… Ruby would have buried him, alive. Hutch shivered as he imagined Starsky choking on the dirt, since he was far too weak, he would have been unable to move to avoid it.

An answering quiver ran through the brunet.

"Easy Starsk, easy… I'm here, I'm here." He carefully worked his fingers through the tangled curls, unmindful of the oil, dirt and smell. None of that mattered. Starsky was alive. But not for long if more help didn't arrive soon. Hutch pulled him closer and started rubbing and even breathing on his partner, anything to help him warm up.

Continuing his ministrations, the lanky detective picked up Starsky's dirty and cold left hand, Hutch noticed the tightly clenched fingers; he worked gently on opening them. It took some doing, since he could only use one hand, but when he pried the digits apart, a coin slipped out and rolled onto the floor. Hutch recognized it as the one he had pitched in the well after making his wish. He had wished to find Starsky and his wish had come true. Ruby was wrong; this wasn't a dead wishing well after all. Tears started welling up in his eyes. He blinked to force them away.

Starsky shifted in his lap.

"Easy buddy… I've got ya…" Hutch choked back at the growing knot in his throat.

Sunken eyelids weakly fluttered, a low hissing sound escaped the cracked, parch lips.

The blond tilted his head and put it close to Starsky's lips, straining to hear whatever Starsky might be trying to say. Dry lips brushed against his earlobe. "Shh, Starsk… don't try to talk, 'kay? Help's on the way."

Light blue eyes turned upwards, the circle of bright light high above him, seemed to be mocking him. Here it was, a bright, sunny afternoon. And here he was, down in a stinking pit of despair with his best friend clinging to life in his arms. Was this how Starsky had felt as he endured his six days here? He swallowed hard at that notion.

"Where the hell is my backup?" Hutch snarled quietly as he tightened his grip on his fading friend.

**TBC**

Author notes: Pony gave me the idea about the kid on the bike. Thanks Pony! And 'Gone with the Schwinn' comes from the 'Muppet Movie', I –_think_ – the line was, "That was close, I was almost gone with the Schwinn!" Kermit said it after a steamroller smashed his bike flat, and nearly poor Kermit too. _–G-_


	10. Chapter 10

Hi All,

Finally here it is, the last chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you all so much for your taking the time to read and review.

As always, hugs and thanks to the Usual Suspects. I couldn't do this without your help and support! Pony, massive hugs for listening to me muddle through the story line!

The idea for this story came from the Shedaisy song "A Woman's Work".

No real warnings, a couple of bad words and a bad joke at the end.

**Chapter 10**

Starsky shifted again, his weak movements tugged at Hutch's heart, pulling it in two directions. One direction found hope, the other despair. "Shhh, shhh, s'okay babe, try not to move, I'll take care of everything." He looked down at his friend's face. Starsky's eyes had sunk into their orbits and his cheeks were hollowed out. He looked like hell. Then again, he was IN hell, so why shouldn't he look like it? Hutch cradled his dying friend to him and began to gently rock as he shushed his partner, unconsciously reverting into the comforting movement that he remembered as a child.

The blond raised his eyes from Starsky's withered features to the grimy walls surrounding them. On the wall section directly across from him, Hutch could make out some scratches. He had squinted in the dim light at the bottom of the well as he tried to understand what they were. A hard look revealed four parallel lines and one diagonal followed by a faint, unfinished sixth line. Their meaning clear. Five nights and six days.

His eyes welled up at the lonely testimony of those marks on the wall. "Oh buddy…" He fingered a stray curl as he imagined his friend scraping way at the stone surface, valiantly tying to leave some mark, some bit of proof of his existence and how long he had endured before succumbing all alone in this pit of despair, with little to no hope that anyone would ever find him.

Silently Hutch's tears began to fall as he remembered when he too had once been trapped and very close to packing it all in. The helplessness, the hopelessness of his ordeal had been bad enough, but at least he could see the sky and there was the meager hope that someone would find him, since he had been out in the open. But down here? All alone, without even the sun to comfort him… Hutch shivered. He remembered how Starsky had been his lifeline; towing him back to life when he felt that giving up would have been far easier and far less painful. He could do no less for his friend, though he wished he could spare him the pain.

Starsky's left hand weakly flailed out, seeking. His cracked lips moved as he issued a dry hiss.

The blond grabbed the hand and pulled it to his chest, "I'm here Starsk, 'm right here."

Starsky's hand tugged and his fingers clenched and released fretfully. The curly head jerked and twitched.

Hutch held the tugging hand in his own as he studied Starsky's face. In the recesses of the sunken eyes, the thick lashes fluttered and opened, unveiling dark blue eyes that slowly blinked and stared at him. "Starsk? You awake?" He lightly jiggled his arm where the heavy, curly head rested on.

Starsky's left hand tugged down and away from his own hand, so Hutch released his grip and watched as Starsky's head lightly bobbed and slowly turned in the crook of his arm. His left hand dug at the dirt beside them. "Starsky, what is it? Huh? What're you lookin' for?"

The left hand kept reaching for something, but failed. Starsky's breathing increased and his face scrunched up in concentration as he reached out again, digging at the loose dirt. A strangled sound gurgled out of the dehydrated man.

His friend tried to roll out of his arms, but Hutch kept a firm grip on him. He looked in the direction of Starsky's line of sight, trying to figure out what was so important to him and that's when he spotted the coin he had pried out of Starsky's hand. Now knowing what he was after, Hutch reached over and picked up the coin and carefully tucked it back into the searching fingers. They snapped around the coin like a Venus flytrap around a fly, knuckles rapidly whitened as the fist clenched tightly over its treasure. The thin shoulders started to shake.

"Starsky? What is it? What's wrong?" Hutch again began gently rocking in an effort to soothe his partner. It was then he realized that the shaking was because Starsky was crying, but no tears were forming in the sunken eyes. Hutch gulped hard as he understood that his partner couldn't cry, he was just too dehydrated.

The blond clutched his dry-weeping partner to his closer to his chest as anger welled up in him at the crazy fortuneteller for withholding water for six days. And then there was his tardy backup… a cloud of anger formed around him as he stewed at them for not showing up the instant he had called for them. Hutch knew he was going to have to leave Starsky and climb up the rope ladder to make another call and find out what the hell was keeping them.

"Starsk, I-I gotta go… just for a minute. I'll be right back, gotta call for help, 'kay?" Hutch explained as he carefully began to ease his friend off of his lap and back on to the dirt floor. Starsky weakly grabbed at his shirt with his right hand, twisting his fingers into the fabric and tugging at it. Hutch looked down and saw that the brunet's eyes were once again open.

Starsky's sunken eyes pled with him, the cracked lips struggled to form words. A hiss escaped the parched throat. Hutch leaned over his friend, getting as close as possible so he could hear what Starsky was struggling to hard to tell him.

Starsky's right hand tugged on Hutch's shirt as he worked hard to speak, "Dooon,"

Hutch put his hand over Starsky's and clutched it to his heart. "Don't try to talk Starsk," Another weak tug pulled directly on the blond's heartstrings. Knowing his friend was determined to try, the blond caved, "Okay… okay, but keep it short, huh?" He gave a watery chuckle and teeter-totter dangerously close to a full blown crying jag.

Starsky worked very hard to speak.

Hutch wanted to kick himself for not bringing some water down into this hole with him. "It's s'okay buddy," he encouraged.

"Dooon' go," Was the ghostly whisper from Starsky's parched throat.

Tears pricked at Hutch's eyes, sharp little reminders that he had fluid enough in his body to make them, "S'okay Starsk, I'll be right back, 'kay? Don't go nowhere." They both knew what Hutch meant. Those words weren't meant as a sarcastic statement, it was Hutch telling Starsky not to die while he was gone.

Light blue eyes locked onto recessed, dark blue ones.

Hutch tried with every fiber of his being, to somehow give his partner the energy, the reserves to continue. For just a little while longer until further assistance arrived.

Starsky's eyes let Hutch know that if he left, he might not be here when the blond returned.

Hutch peered deep into Starsky's sunken eyes, and then he looked up at the well opening high above them. He could leave and call for help again, but Starsky would likely die before he got back. Or he could wait down here until they arrived. Or lastly he could put Starsky over his shoulder and carry him up, which would endanger both of them for one slip could send them both tumbling.

He looked back into his friend's eyes; saw the utter despair and fading spark of life and Hutch's mind was made up. No way in hell was his friend gonna die and certainly not in this hellhole. "All right Starsk, we're gettin' outta here… together." He brushed the backs of his knuckles over Starsky's temple before putting his hand behind the heavy head to support it as he lifted his friend into a sitting position.

"This ain't gonna be comfortable trip buddy." Hutch said as he eased the limp body over his right shoulder in a fireman's carry. The lanky detective slowly rose to his feet and looked up the ladder to the circle of light fifty feet above his head. His friend had lost a lot of weight during his confinement; it was still going to be a tough climb. He could feel a shiver ran through Starsky's frame. "Easy buddy," he wrapped his left arm around the dangling legs to steady the brunet and keep him from sliding off his shoulder. The blond took a deep, fortifying breath before starting his ascent.

He took each rung slowly, taking his time while still moving as quickly as he dared. The oxymoron of his actions did not surpass him. As he took the next rung up, he noticed a something in a crack in the wall. It was a fingernail and the brown smears around it were likely dried blood. Hutch swallowed hard at the idea of Starsky trying to claw his way to out of the well. It was just like him not to give up. Hutch took the next rung; he didn't have time to concern himself now with the horrifying image that the ripped out fingernail held.

The strain on Hutch's shoulders, back and legs was tremendous but he maintained a steady pace as he climbed rest of the way out of the pit. When he gained the surface, he carefully eased Starsky off of his shoulder and onto the rim of the well. He climbed the rest of the way out and paused for a moment, panting in the dirt before pulling his partner away from the hole and into the bright sunlight.

Hutch was about to head to the LTD to call about the ETA of his help when he heard distant sound of wailing sirens approaching. The raucous hodgepodge of sounds was music to his ears. He settled next to Starsky and gently pulled him onto his lap again. He adjusted the curly head back into the crook of his arm and put a hand to his friend's chest, feeling the rise and fall of the lungs beneath his palm. "D'ya hear that Starsk?"

He looked down at Starsky's face and was rewarded with a fragile smile before the sunken eyelids slowly shut. Worried, Hutch called his name. A shiver racked the dehydrated body. Starsky was likely beginning to slip into shock. Hutch knew he needed to keep his friend conscious, "Stay with me Starsk… just stay with me, d'ya hear?"

A twitch of movement brought the blond's attention to Starsky's right hand and he gently picked it up to examine it. Fresh blood was dripping sluggishly out of one of the tips. The rest were crusty with dried blood and dirt. Several small, half moon shapes had been gouged out in several spots along the most damaged of the fingers, causing Hutch to briefly wonder what they were and how they got there. "How'd you get these buddy? Huh?"

"ush…" A weak, parched cough interrupted Starsky.

The whisper brought Hutch's attention back to his partner's face. "Yeah Starsk?"

"ush…"

"I'm here, buddy, right here," the lanky detective placed his hand on Starsky's forehead, it was growing warm. A fever was coming on. The sound of the sirens grew closer.

M'key… " Starsky seemed to be fighting against the weight of his eyelids, struggling to keep them open.

"What?" Hutch asked as the curly head twisted slightly in the crook of his arm.

The dry throat worked hard to form words. "M'key… down… there…"

A frown beetled Hutch's brow as he worked to listen to his partner over the ever-increasing sounds of the approaching sirens, both police and fire department from the different sirens. "Your key?" The blond shook his head, obviously Starsky was becoming delirious, "Um… yeah, your key, got it. Don't worry about it, 'kay? "

The dirty head shook 'no' in his arm as he struggled to speak "M'key… save… M'key…"

"Don't worry Starsk, someone will get your key for you, alright? Just rest, don't try to talk any more." He softly knuckled the sunken cheek, feeling the heat of a rising fever as he did so. "S'okay, I'll take care of it." At those words, Starsky went completely limp in his arms. "Starsk?"

XXXX

Captain Harold Dobey pulled up behind the fire truck and parked his car, ignoring the sign on the back of the truck that warned 'Stay back 500 feet'. He walked hurriedly to where the action was. He also noticed -as he walked over it- a flattened white picket fence and torn up grass that led into the backyard of the immaculate little home. Hutchinson had obviously been in a hurry. Dobey broke into a trot and followed the twin trail of car tracks to a small crowd made up of police officers and fire fighters.

In the center of the commotion, he could just pick out a familiar white-blond head in the occasional breaks in the center of the crowd and made a beeline for it. He elbowed his way through the small group and took note of the solemn faces. It was like the eye of a storm, the closer to the center he got, the quieter it became. Dread filled him as he broke through the last of the small gathering.

Hutch was sitting on the ground with a withered and pale Starsky in his arms. A bald paramedic was putting an IV into Starsky's right arm. Dobey gave a sigh of relief. They would only do that for someone who was alive. As soon as the line was in, they carefully lifted the limp detective onto the waiting gurney and with a lot more people then necessary helping; Starsky was loaded on to the ambulance, which was parked next to the LTD.

Hutch was climbing in the ambulance after his partner when Dobey caught up and tugged on his sleeve. "Hutchinson, how did you find him?"

"Ruby Tuesday is responsible. You'll find her dead at the bottom of the cliff, through those bushes," the lanky detective pointed. "Have the crime lab check out that well, that's where she kept him. His key is down there, he wants it." With that, Hutch closed the ambulance doors.

"His key?" Dobey shook his head as he watched the ambulance pull out of the yard before wandering over to look down into the well.

XXXX

_One hour later at the bottom of Ruby Tuesday's well._

"Good God, it really stinks down here. How come they never tell you about some of the shit jobs you end up doing when you're goin' to school for this, huh Gil?" Sam from the crime lab spoke to the other as they carefully started to dig in the bottom of the well, loading dirt into a pail that was then hauled to the surface for a closer look by other members of the team.

Gil simply shrugged "Did you know that the only job where you start at the top is digging ditches?"

"Why do you always answer a question with a question?" The other man stopped digging for a moment and leaned on his shovel.

"Why do you always ask me the same questions whenever we're doing this kind of work? You know us rookies always end up doing the crap jobs."

"Yeah, that don't make it fair though." The other man shook his head in exasperation as he went back to work digging. He turned over a large rock with his shovel. "Jesus Christ!" He whacked the furry thing without thought.

"HEY! Watch where you're swinging that! You almost hit me!" Gil snapped.

"Sorry, it's a damn rat, it jumped at me."

"A damn dead rat."

"Yeah, it's dead now." Sam whacked it again, just to be sure. "I hate rats."

Gil bent down and picked it up by its tail. "Congratulations Sam, you just killed a dead rat. You must be so proud of yourself." Gil looked up towards the mouth of the well, "It must have been killed by that rock when Tuesday dumped the dirt down on the detective. Good thing that the rock landed on the rat's head instead of that detective's." He handed the dead rat to his coworker.

"Oh yeah." Sam nodded in agreement as he took in the stiff posture of the rat, he knew Gil was right, the rat had been dead for at least a half hour to be in full rigor. "Shut up Grissom. We got work to do." Sam dropped the dead rat into the pail and had started digging again when his shovel hit something else. Both he and Gil stopped and looked at each other. "Only one thing makes that sound when a shovel hits it."

"Bones." Gil agreed.

XXXX

_Bay City Memorial Hospital, five days later._

Hutch looked at Starsky through the open door of his room. Starsky was looking much better after being re-hydrated. It had been a very near thing; a matter of moments had meant the difference between life and death. Starsky had just started going into hypovolemic shock. He had lost nearly ten percent of his body weight due to severe dehydration. It had been life threatening medical emergency. But after five days, the doctor had just told him that Starsky was officially on the mend and that there shouldn't be any long-term medical complications.

"Hutch!"

The blond grinned at the joyful greeting and entered the room. "Hey buddy, how're you feelin'?"

"Better," Starsky patted the bed, "sit. I see you finally went home and took a shower and changed. 'Bout time too, that cute little black haired angel… what's-her-name, was in here looking for you again."

"Mitzy?" Hutch supplied as he approached his partner's bed, carefully keeping his package behind his back.

"Yeah! Mitzy, that's her name. She's cute-" Starsky stopped and gave a loud sniff, "You got me a cheeseburger!" He sniffed again, "Fries!" Another long sniff followed, "And a strawberry shake!"

"Down puppy, those are for me." Hutch grinned wolfishly.

"Bullshit! Gimme!" Starsky impatiently snapped his fingers.

The blond sat on the bed and opened the paper bag; he hooked his foot around the leg of the rollaway table and pulled it over before setting the food onto it. He tucked a napkin under Starsky's chin and watched as his friend indulged himself in a fast food frenzy. "Careful buddy, you're just gonna end up puking it all back up if you keep eating that fast."

Starsky chewed up a mouthful and swallowed. "I'll slow down if you tell me what's been goin' on. I heard some of it on the news. What's the body count up to now?"

"So far nine skeletons have been found in the well. Though we can't prove it, Gary Meyer might have been Ruby's first victim. He was found murdered in that abandoned K&C warehouse near the wharf five years ago." Hutch picked up the strawberry shake and helped himself to a sip. He made a face at the sweetness, but kept drinking anyway.

"I thought that Meyer's death was a drug deal gone bad." Starsky looked interested as he stuffed a few fries into his mouth.

Hutch shrugged, "Still don't know for sure, but he was the one that Ruby's little sister, Jewel claimed had attacked and raped her. The judge and jury didn't agree, there just wasn't enough evidence. He was released from custody and murdered three months later."

"So you're thinking he was Ruby's first victim… would you call him a 'victim'?" Starsky took the shake out of his partner's hand and began sipping it.

"He was dirty, no doubt about it. Did he rape Ruby's sister? That I can't answer. I do know that some of the preliminary autopsies –though there's not much left to autopsy- have tentatively matched the dental records of three of the nine men in that well. They came back to some very unpleasant characters. All of those three had records, all had been up to no good and they all had disappeared without anyone knowing or caring what had happened to them. No one had reported any of them missing, as far as R&I can tell." Hutch picked up a French fry, dipped it in catsup and chewed it thoughtfully.

"So much for honor among bad guys. So, Ruby's sister's rapist gets off scott free and that's what sent her over the edge –er, so to speak," Starsky gave him a pained look. "Sorry, I didn't mean to remind you."

"S'okay buddy, I know what you meant. The rest of the story is that after Ruby and her family left the court house, their car was hit by a drunk driver and all but Ruby were killed. Poor Ruby didn't have any one left."

"So she became judge, jury and executioner." Starsky said thoughtfully.

"She almost killed an innocent man, Starsk. She almost killed you." Hutch choked out, he stood up and got some water.

"Though it was out of context, she did _'see'_ me kill two men and drive away. She was torn up inside. Her mind was torn up too. While I don't like what she did, I can forgive her." The brunet leaned back in his bed and stared at the ceiling tiles.

"Forgive her? Why? You nearly died!" Hutch started to angrily pace the room.

"She didn't kill me outright. She could have. She could have shot me. She didn't. She lowered me into the well instead of dropping me. Fifty feet, Hutch, fifty feet is a long way down. The fall would have killed me. She could have poisoned my coke instead of giving me knock out drops – shoulda recognized her right then, when I stopped to help her with her bike's flat tire. But I didn't. At any rate, she didn't kill me right away. She left clues that led you right to me. I think that somewhere, deep down she wanted to be caught. Maybe some part of her knew I was innocent." Starsky took a small bite of his cheeseburger and then pushed the rest away.

Hutch noticed, walked over and put his hand on his friend's forehead, "You okay? Nothings wrong with the burger, is there?"

Starsky shook his head, "No mom, my stomach's still pretty shrunken. I don't know how you can fast for two days at time. I was about to gnaw off a leg after two days." He gave a half grin. "Speaking of gnawing, whatever happened to Mickey?"

Hutch looked away for a moment, then he turned back, "I buried him, just like you asked me to. I don't know why you wanted me to waste time burying a rat that had been chewing on you." The blond shivered, disgusted at the thought of that happening to his best friend.

Starsky gave him a hurt look, "Mickey was a rat. He was just doing what rats do. It doesn't make him good or bad. It just makes him a rat. He was trying to survive, just like I was."

A knock on the open door interrupted them. "May I come in?" a female voice inquired.

The two men turned to see who it was. It was the angelic looking black-haired nurse, Mitzy and she was carrying a carafe of ice water.

"C'mon in!" the duo chorused and then shared an avaricious look.

"'Lo darlin' comin' ta take my temperature?" Starsky waggled his eyebrows at her.

Mitzy giggled, then spoke with a fake southern drawl, "Why office-ah, ah do declare-ah you are too sweet for words. But no, I'm not here for you." She turned to Hutch, her drawl disappearing and her voice deepened and became sexier, "Hello handsome, are you by any chance Kenny Hutchinson?"

"Ah, my reputation precedes me," Hutch picked up her free hand and kissed the back of it.

"It sure does," Mitzy purred as she dumped the iced water on top of Hutch's bowed head; he stood up straight at the shock of cold water dousing him. When he did, she grabbed his waistband and poured the remaining down the front of his pants. "My sister Patty told me all about you!" Mitzy then flounced to the door. "You stay away from my sister!"

The still shocked partners stared after her. Hutch then turned to look at his friend, cold water and ice cubes sliding and dripping off of him, to puddle around his feet on the floor.

Starsky began to snicker.

Hutch pointed his index finger and gave it a firm shake under Starsky's. He picked up a French fry and stuffed it into his laughing friend's face. "Here, eat this. You are what you eat, you know, so you are junk food." His expression was smug.

Remembering Patty's double D's, Starsky chuckled as he spoke around his fry, "So, that makes you a big boob, doesn't it?"

Hutch turned beet red, whirled around on his heel and sloshed off into the bathroom.

**The End**

Author note: Yeah, I borrowed Gil Grissom from CSI. He was returned unharmed.


End file.
